#Marcus Smart Shirt

[qveerthe0ry]

Your Ride, Best Trip

Summary: You sleep with your boyfriend Marcus for the first time Word Count: 9,001 Pairing: Marcus Pike x f! afab! reader Rating: 18+ Explicit Warnings: 18+ mdni, first time, vaginal fingering, oral (m! and f! receiving), unprotected PIV, squirting, creampie, dirty talk, so much fluff, so much kissing Betas: @for-a-longlongtime and @perotovar as ALWAYS. Love you homies I'm kissing u both <3 A/N: I have nothing to say for myself this time

Marcus Pike is perfect. 

He’s your dream man. 

He’s sweet. He brings you flowers just because, and he’s remembered your go-to coffee order, and he never goes to bed without texting you goodnight.

He’s effortlessly kind. He offers to walk your dog for you when you aren’t feeling well enough to get out of bed, and he always does the dishes when you cook for him, and he makes sure his bathroom is stocked with all the personal products you use at your own place. 

He’s fucking handsome. His smile is straight and pearly white, and his big brown eyes warm you up, and the way his broad shoulders fill out those suits he wears to work never fails to make you weak in the knees. 

He’s so smart, and he’s so funny, and he’s all yours… finally. 

See, when he hadn’t so much as kissed you by your third date, you wigged out a bit. 

How could you not? He’d been so thoughtful and caring and all you wanted was to feel those pillowy, soft lips against your own. 

So you asked him what was up, and he told you.

Divorced. Broken engagement. A whole year of therapy to pinpoint what went wrong, what he could change, and how he could do better, how he could feel better. And then, he said, he found you— like fate— when he wasn’t even looking, when he least expected it. 

You had no problem taking it slow. You’re still convinced you’d wait forever for him, as perfect as he is.

After too many little dates to count, he told you he wanted to be your boyfriend, if you’d have him.

You told him you’d love for him to be your boyfriend, of course. You’d be crazy not too. 

And then he finally kissed you.

It was slow and hesitant, but it still made your heart race, made your stomach do flips. He cut it off before it could become anything more than chaste, and left your front door with a sheepish goodnight. 

You’ve kissed a lot since then. You never really enjoyed kissing that much, before. It always just seemed like a means to and end, a formality before moving on to other things. 

But now it’s one of your favorite ways to pass the time with him. Waiting for an Uber to take you downtown, finally getting to his place on Friday after a long work week, cuddling in bed together with an old movie playing.

You haven’t made out with anyone this much since high school. And you enjoy it, you do, but Jesus Christ, he’s been your boyfriend for three weeks now and you need him. 

It doesn’t help that he touches you like you’re the last person on earth. His hands are so big and they’re gentle and electric when they find the bit of skin just under the hem of your shirt. 

You think it’s going to happen, this time. Friday night takeout has long been abandoned in the living room. You’re in his bed, in his clothes, and his pinky is teasing at the waistband of his sweats that you’re wearing. 

His tongue in your mouth is making you dizzy, and there’s no more blood in your brain with all of it rushing between your legs. You whimper, and you arch against him, and you want him so bad but you can’t say it. You’d feel bad, making him rush when he’s made it clear he wants to take things slow. 

When his lips leave yours, you open your eyes, and find his pupils obstructing all the deep, dark brown you adore. 

You have to squeeze your thighs together for a miniscule amount of relief. He notices. Of course he does. Damn that Quantico training. 

“Sweetheart—”

His eyes flicker down to your lips. You’re sure they look obscene, red and slick from nearly an hour of him sucking and nibbling on them. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. 

You don’t know why you say it, but you are sorry. You feel so bad for wanting him like this, desperate and aching in his bed, over eager. 

“Don’t be,” he shakes his head and gives you a reluctant smile, a smile that tells you you’re going to fall asleep extremely sexually frustrated. 

But it’s fine. He’s so worth it. 

You give him a soft smile back, and lean in to peck his lips. But he pulls away with his brow furrowed. 

“What do you want?” 

His voice is gentle when he asks. So is his hand on your back, under his shirt you’ve claimed. But it doesn’t stop that fight or flight response from kicking in. 

“Nothing! Nothing, Marcus, I’m okay— I’m great. Just wanna cuddle.” 

But the creases in his forehead don’t smooth out, and his hand ceases the soothing circles across your spine. 

“You’re lying.” 

You sigh and close your eyes. 

“I’m not lying, I’m just— I don’t want to push you to move too fast.” 

You expect him to be angry. But when you open your eyes again, his own have taken on that puppy-like quality you usually love. Right now, it just makes you feel guilty. 

“I’ve been lying, too,” Marcus whispers. 

It’s your turn to scrunch your face up. Your blood runs cold, waiting for him to elaborate. A million scenarios run through your head at lighting speed— all worse and worse until your breathing picks up and you beg him with your eyes to just get on with it—

“I have a small dick.” 

His face is so flushed. He can’t meet your gaze.

He’s staring at the bedsheets between you, and you’re both just silent for a long, awkward moment. 

“I mean— the divorce and all that, it’s all true. And I did want to keep from moving too fast. But— the last few weeks I guess I’ve just been… stalling?” 

He finally looks up from the threads to gauge your reaction. 

“Marcus…”

“I get it, okay? If you wanna go. I know I lied, and you didn’t sign up for—“

“Marcus.”

You watch his shoulders raise and his mouth snap shut, and he looks terrified.

“I don’t want to leave. You didn’t lie. It’s just— you really think that would bother me?” 

He lets out a big breath, and the tension in his body eases up a little. 

“I don’t know. Most people were… bothered. I guess,” he shrugs. 

You cradle his jaw in your hand, let the day-old stubble tickle the pad of your thumb as you think about how to best navigate this conversation. 

Because saying ‘I don’t care’ seems too dismissive. But you don’t. You couldn’t possibly care less about what’s in his pants, when everything else about him has made you fall so, so deep already. But you don’t want to make it sound like it’s something you have to even bargain with, like the pros outweigh the cons, like it even is a con. Because it’s not. 

“I’m not bothered,” you finally tell him. 

He still doesn’t meet your eyes, in fact, he rolls his. 

“You don’t have to lie to me. It’s okay, I’ve heard it all. I know I’ve lead you on—”

“Jesus,” you cut him off, “what did— who made you feel this way?” 

He finally looks at you. His eyes are wide and he looks vulnerable and hesitant. You swipe away some hair that’s fallen flat across his scrunched forehead. 

“Everyone?” 

You sigh his name, and you’re tentative when you lean forward to kiss him, softly, when he lets you. 

He looks less terrified when you pull back. You try to smile, but this whole interaction has left such a bad taste in your mouth that it feels more like a grimace when your lips turn up. 

“That’s— Fucking awful, to be frank. Pardon my French.”

He chuckles, but his gaze falls away from your face again. His sheets are not that interesting to look at. 

“Really, Marcus. I mean— maybe if someone’s just looking for a hookup, then I get it. You want something specific, whatever. But why would you ever think you were leading me on?

All you’ve done is be sweet to me, and shown interest in me, and taken care of me. Unless you’re like, secretly an ax murderer, or committing some kind of major tax fraud, you haven’t led me on at all.”

He’s still not looking at you. Why won’t he look at you, and believe you? 

“I don’t want to sound dismissive. I understand you’re insecure about it. I’m insecure about some things too. I don’t want to invalidate that. But I need you to know that the last thing I care about is how big your dick is.” 

There. He’s looking at you. He looks a little mortified, but he’s finally meeting your gaze. 

“Really?”

You scoff. 

“Really really.”

A reluctant smile tugs on the corner of his pretty mouth. 

“Why?”

“Because— now, don’t go getting a big head about this— you’re perfect. Like, everything about you. You’re sweet and you make me laugh and you’re gorgeous.”

His face flushes, but he lets you continue.

“And I’m in this, with you. I want this to go somewhere. And I think we’re super compatible.”

“Me too,” he whispers.

“Good, so… we’re on the same page then.”

You watch him lick his lips, and his hand that’s been loosely draped over your waist finally starts back up, drawing little circles across the base of your spine. 

“And… There’s other reasons,” you mumble, voice low with a hint of mischief.

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah… For one, your hands.”

“My hands?”

He emphasizes his question with a squeeze of your hip, and you giggle at the way it tickles, and also with a bit of embarrassment. 

“Yeah… They’re uh… big. I look at them a lot. Honestly surprised you haven’t noticed.”

He huffs, lets his big hand travel further up the shirt on your back. 

“Your nails are always trimmed, and— your fingers are long and thick. I’ve thought about them a lot.”

He breathes your name, and now you realize you’re the one avoiding eye contact. When you look back, his pupils are all blown out again, and it spurs you on.

“And I love to give head.”

“Jesus.”

“And the bigger it is, the quicker I get tired. I could stay down there all night, if my jaw didn’t get sore.” 

“Sweetheart—”

“Really, it’s one of my favorite things, making someone fall apart under my mouth. But I hate gagging and choking my way through it. It’s tedious.”

He says your name again, this time with a warning tone. 

You bite your lip to keep anything from tumbling from your mouth unwarranted. 

“You’re not lying.”

His eyes dart back and forth across your face, and you shake your head in lieu of opening your mouth again. 

“Fuck.”

It’s the first time Marcus has cursed in front of you. Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and your clit throbs. 

“I’ve thought about you so much. Your lips, you have to know, right? How plump and full they are… I think about them at night, when I’m touching myself.” 

That’s convincing enough, apparently. Before you can embarrass yourself any further with your confessions, he surges forward to press those plush lips against yours and groans into your mouth. 

His hand flattens against your back and pulls, manhandling you closer to him. Your fingers find his silky hair and tangle in the strands, holding on for dear life at this shift between the two of you. 

You can’t muster up an ounce of shame. Finally, you have Marcus where you want him, pressed against you. You hike a leg over one of his, getting it between your thighs for even the smallest amount of friction. 

You feel him gasp, chest inflating to press even closer against yours. It’s a rush, finally getting this after waiting so long. 

Your hands scramble to get under his white t-shirt. His skin is hot, even against your sweaty palms. There’s so much to feel, the slight swell of his stomach, and the muscle of his flank, the soft but firm pecs. 

You whine when he pulls away from your lips. He shushes you gently, and you open your eyes to watch his slick lips and his hooded eyes and flushed face disappear briefly, just quick enough to shed his shirt. 

Smooth, is the first thing that comes to mind. His tan skin has no hair above his belly button, just the errant freckle here and there. His nipples are peaked, and you reach out to press your thumb against one before your mind catches up to the action, before you realize you’re gawking. 

But when your hand stutters against his skin and you look up at him, he’s smirking, amused and turned on. You falter a bit, mouth open while you search for something to say, some sort of excuse as to why you’re devouring him like you’re starved. 

He saves you though, with his low, grumbled voice. 

“I think about you, too. All the time.” 

You dig your nails into his soft skin at his admission, scraping against his chest. 

“You know that? You think I haven’t had you a million different ways in my head?” 

Your heart stops beating, and you stop breathing, and the heat between your legs only gets heavier and wetter. 

“You want me to show you, sweetheart?”

Your heartbeat comes back as a rush in your ears, and you squeeze the meat of his pec as you nod. 

He kisses you again, licks at your lips until you suck his tongue into your mouth, and now it’s just filthy. No more pretense, it’s been months of pretense, and neither of you have any more patience. 

His fingers seek out your own nipple, a tight bud protruding through cloth, and he rolls it between his fingers gently over the material of his shirt. 

“You come over and wear my clothes like this, and you think you don’t drive me crazy?” 

The words are grumbled into your mouth, against your cheek, then your jaw and your neck as he seeks out more of you to kiss. 

“I don’t wash them when you leave. I wear them and I smell you all day and it makes me feel insane.”

You mewl at his admission. Everything he says now is so fucking raw, now that you’ve broken down his walls. He shushes you again, grabs the hem of his shirt to help you pull it over your head. 

He curses when he sees you. It’s the first time. You’ve both been toeing this line of modesty, and maybe you’d be more nervous if you weren’t careening toward the pleasure he’s promised you. 

He coaxes you to lie on your back beside him, and his mouth works a slow trail down the side of your neck, nipping and suckling until he finally gets your nipple in his mouth. You arch into it, encouraging him with a hand tangled in his thick hair. You feel his groan reverberating around your rib cage when you scrape your nails back and forth across his scalp. You need him, like nothing you’ve ever craved before. 

“Marcus—”

“I know, I know.”

His syrupy voice isn’t as soothing as his lips, though, when he cranes his neck back up to kiss you again. He nips there, a sneaky distraction from the way his fingers trail down to circle your navel, and then even farther, teasing the hem of his sweatpants you’re wearing. His featherlight touch makes you jolt when it finally registers, your stomach jumping under his fingers. 

“Can I?”

You’re nodding against his lips, into the kiss, and then whining when his hand breaches the waistband. Those thick, long fingers flutter across your mound. Your breath catches on every wiggle. But when his fingers splay out, half on one side of your slit and half on the other, teasing your lips, you exhale hard and press up into his touch. 

“Oh, are you that sensitive?”

His voice is half-teasing, half-shocked, as he mumbles into the tingling skin of your neck. 

“It’s just you.” 

And it’s true. There’s no ego-stroking here. You’ve waited too long to get this and now you’re fiending, any touch is a relief. 

And he’s huffing into that skin under your ear, like you’re playing it up too much, but he bites down on the skin anyway and groans. 

“So sweet, huh?”

You make a disgruntled noise but there’s not enough blood in your brain to get your point across. Instead, you wrap your hand around his meaty forearm and force his fingers lower, where you know your underwear is a soaking, sticky mess. 

He curses and pulls away from his assault on your neck to look at you. You’re certain you know what he sees, blown out pupils and sweat-slick forehead and bitten, shiny lips. 

“That’s all for me?” 

There’s a sly smile tugging at one side of his mouth, just barely there, but you see it in the way one dimple grows more than the other. You nod in answer, scrape your nails up the hair on his arm and watch him shudder.

But he retreats from between your legs, and chuckles when you squeeze his forearm tighter in protest. The sound makes you shiver, all low and gruff and teasing. But he softens the blow with another one of his kisses, heated and sloppy and needy. His hands, always so gentle and careful and big, find the creases between your hips and thighs. It makes you arch up into the touch and whimper again, and you wonder briefly if you’ll ever not be desperate for him again. 

He watches your face twist up when he pulls away from you, watches the way your breasts move with every heave of your lungs. His dark eyes travel lower, where his thumbs sear circles into your hips, and his tongue swipes across his lower lip. 

“Can I take these off, sweetheart?” 

The tenderness in his voice fills you with a completely different warmth, white hot flames simmering into a blaze of feelings you aren’t sure you’ve ever truly experienced before. You let it consume you. 

“Yes, please.”

He hums a satisfied little noise as his fingers hook under the waistband. He takes his time, making sure to catch your underwear as well. It’s a sight, his huge hands working your only remaining cover down, down, until you’re bare to him and he’s gently cradling each of your calves to fully remove the last of your clothes. 

Those hands work their way back up, attentive, memorizing the valleys and peaks of your flesh, the nuances of your skin, the way it bends over your joints. Before you know it, he’s propped himself up beside you once again, one arm supporting his weight so his other hand can work its way between your thighs. 

You drag your eyes away from his fingers to look at him, only to find him focused on your face. 

It’s a few long moments before either of you move or speak or breathe. It’s you who breaks the spell, only because you know you’re at the very edge of control. 

“You sure you’re ready?”

You reach up to cradle his neck in your hand. It’s hot to the touch, and so are his ears, the tips of them burning a cute pink where your thumb grazes them. His eyes get softer and crinkle even more around the edges.

“I’m positive… can’t believe I psyched myself out for so long.”

He huffs and shakes his head at himself. You’re ready to kiss that apprehension away again, but his hand on your thigh pulls, as gentle as everything else he’s done, to spread yourself open for him. 

The cool air makes your breath catch in your throat. Or maybe it’s the anticipation. So close to what you’ve thought about every single night for weeks. Months– since the day you first met, if you’re being honest. 

He keeps his eyes on you, and you hold his gaze even though it burns. But only until his fingers brush you. Your eyelids flutter shut at the feeling, mouth open wide in shock at how electric just one simple touch feels. 

His finger glides so easily around your opening, and you hear him gasp as he explores all the slick.

“You’re soaked.” 

His voice is thick with awe, as another finger joins in on the fun, gathering up your arousal. But they don’t breach, and you feel like he’s teasing, readying a whine in protest. 

The noise gets stuck in your throat when they trail up, gliding through your swollen folds. They find your clit, full and begging for attention, and circle with hardly any pressure. 

Oh, he’s fucking good at this. 

There’s no apprehension in his movements. It’s like he’s read a fucking manual on how to press all your buttons. The light, slick touches are building up that heat in your gut quicker than you can ever remember with anyone else. 

You’re stunned silent, eyes pinched shut and your head tilted back into the mattress, digging in for even an ounce of grounding. 

“That feel good, sweetheart?”

Your vocal chords come back to life, finally, as you whimper from the gentle drag of his fingers. 

“You have no idea.”

He chuckles, and you open your eyes to see his own still trained on your face. 

“I think I do,” he mumbles.

He shifts, presses his hips into you, and the hard line of him digs into your side. 

You clench around nothing, and your clit pulses under the pads of his fingers. He curses and responds to the needy little bud, applying more pressure and speeding up those little circles. 

All the while he grinds his hips into you, soft little movements that sync up with his hand, and you want him so bad. You’re losing patience by the second, the only thing keeping you from pouncing is the way his fingers work you over so perfectly it’s like you’re touching yourself. 

You’re not, though, and that becomes perfectly clear when one thick, long finger presses lower and slips into you. It slides so easily, despite how much girth it has on one of your own. You both make stuttered noises at the feeling, and Marcus’ lips capture your own to let them mingle together. 

Your hips egg him on, lifting and shifting, but he is teasing now. It’s a slow drag in and out, his finger pin straight, and if he hadn’t been so diligent this entire time you’d think he didn’t know what he was doing. 

But you whine, a soft plea of his name into his mouth, and he obliges. That thick finger crooks up, just as the heel of his hand flattens against your clit, and stars bloom behind your eyelids. 

You groan, and he laps it up before his lips leave yours. 

“That’s it. This what you needed?”

A pathetic whimper comes out in response as you nod your head. His finger presses harder into that perfect spot, and his palm slides over your wet clit. You’re clenching around him, savoring the feeling of being filled by him, working your hips down and back to meet his motions. It grows and grows, that feeling in your gut, so close that you can’t be bothered to worry about what needy noises you’re making.

He mutters another frantic curse, and his hips jump to press his cock into you harder. 

“I gotta taste you, sweetheart. Can I? Will you let me?” 

You nod so fast you’re surprised your head doesn’t detach from your neck. He soothes that frenzied part of your brain with another kiss, slips his finger out of you, and moves to get between your legs. 

You thread your fingers through his hair to keep him still, even if it’s just for a moment. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, and the drag of his sweatpants across your sensitive center makes you arch up into him for more, to seek out more friction. 

He just huffs a laugh against your lips and angles his hips away, denying you the simple pleasure of grinding against the tent in his pants. 

“Not yet. Let me take my time with you. You’ve waited so long, right? I’ll make it up to you, you just gotta let me.” 

You huff. 

You should’ve known Marcus would be just as much of an infuriating tease in the bedroom as he is outside of it. The trivia dates and the cocky smirk he always sported when he won, the little bets he’d make on how a movie’s plot was going to twist, the refusal to ever let you pay for dinner— it’s all adding up now, and you can’t believe you didn’t expect it. 

Marcus Pike is a smug little prick underneath the humble, sheepish grins, and it’s hot and it’s yours. 

“Put your money where your mouth is,” you breathe. 

He chuckles and trails said mouth down the length of your naked body. You watch his plump lips explore your skin and leave wet patches littered in their wake, shiny little stakes claiming you. His five o’clock shadow is just long enough to abrade your skin a bit, delightful little pricks that make your muscles jump involuntarily.

He makes it to your mound before looking up at you. His brown eyes are mostly obstructed by his pupils, but they shine all glassy in the dim lamplight of his bedroom. His shitty grin has faded and he looks determined, and it steals the breath from your lungs. 

He teases some more, of course he does. His lips peck and tickle the creases of your thighs, the skin of your outer lips, and the very tip of your hood before you finally see his pink tongue slip out. 

All of a sudden you can’t watch, can only let your head fall back and close your eyes and drown in the anticipation. 

The pointed tip of his tongue just barely grazes you, tracing a razor-thin line from your dripping hole all the way to your mound. It tickles, and your breath comes in faster as he does it again, and again, and again. 

Just before you can beg for more, he flattens his tongue and drags it up your slit. He laps at your folds, slow and calculated, and the satisfied noises tumble out of you as you feel his taste buds glide against you. 

All you can think to do is find his hair and use it to hang on. Your legs spread wider, and he takes the encouragement. His tongue finds your clit, so swollen and sensitive with need by now. He circles it, then wiggles his tongue back and forth, playing with it, playing with you. He shakes his head from side to side to give you more, presses even more firmly, and the heavy feeling in your gut tightens tenfold. 

Your hips start to move on their own, rocking up into his face, helping his motions along. He groans with it, muffled and wet between your legs. 

A delirious thought gets stuck in your horny brain. You don’t know how you’ll ever let him leave this spot between your legs now that you’ve finally got him here. It’s so wet and warm and incredible, and your nails dig into his scalp to drive the point home, to try and lock him here forever. 

His voice snaps you from your reverent thoughts, thick and deep. 

“Fuck, sweetheart. You taste so good, looks so fucking pretty.” 

You brave a glance down at him, his red soaked mouth and his dark eyes that are boring holes into your pussy. One of his hands releases its grip on your thigh to glide across the dripping mess of your center. He toys with you, spreading you open with splayed fingers, watching the way your folds bend to his whim. With it exposed and protruding and aching for his touch, he leans down to wrap his plush lips around your clit and suckle. Curses fly from your lips at the concentrated attention, and it’s so so so fucking good you’re sure you’re going combust. 

His hand slips lower, and his mouth doesn’t stop, and you’re dangerously close to tipping over the edge. And then two thick fingers slip easily into you, immediately seeking out that spot inside you and tapping there. 

It’s blinding pressure overwhelming the two places you need him most. He drums up a rhythm that would remind you of a dance, maybe, if your brain were cognitive enough to form a coherent thought. Down with his head, engulfing your clit, and up with his fingers, squeezing that spongy spot inside you. Over and over, he works you with soft grunts against your cunt until your fingers lock up in his hair and your hips start to shake. 

“Please don’t stop,” you pant, “I’m so close.” 

To his credit, and this is more than you can say for the majority of men you’ve been with, he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t slow down, nor does he speed up. He keeps at you exactly how you need it, moaning strung-out little noises into your center until you’re dropping. 

All the wind is knocked out of you. Your hips jolt into his face and he takes it in stride, lapping at your clit when the seal of his lips is broken from your erratic movements. You tremble through it, clench around his fingers, and squeeze his head between your thighs as you ride it out on his tongue. 

As the shivers roll through you, Marcus’ fingers slow, and though he can’t remove his tongue from you because of how your legs have him in a headlock, he stills his tongue so you can take the last bit of what you need from him. 

His breathing is just as heavy as yours, wheezing out moans and muffled words of encouragement. When you feel yourself slipping down from your peak, you let go of the death grip on his hair, and open your legs, and grant yourself a few deep breaths before you dare to look down at him. 

He carefully, cautiously pulls his fingers out of you. A comforting ‘shhh’ is cooed into the sweaty skin of your thigh when you make a strangled sound. Both of his hands splay out on either hip, a light and grounding touch accompanied by the kisses he’s dropping all over the skin he can reach. 

Finally, you grant yourself a peek down at him. The first thing you notice is how his broad shoulders are, heaving with baited breath. Then, his normally pristine hair, sticking out every which way and then some from your frantic fingers. 

His face is red, you guess from exertion. Or maybe you really did restrict some blood flow. Christ. That’s what he gets, being so goddamn good at that. 

And then his lips. His lips. Those lips that up until now you’ve only ever kissed or dreamed of. They’re even more plump, swollen and slick with you, shining just like his chin is. 

You don’t know what to say. You know you want to kiss him. Funny, considering that’s how all this started, but you’re dying to see what you taste like on him. 

Luckily, he breaks the silence, after licking those delectable lips and clearing his throat. 

“So… How’d it compare?” 

Your face contorts on its own, surprised at the sudden and intrusive question. 

“Pardon?”

But then he laughs, pressing those wet dimples into your heated skin to hide them. 

“To all those thoughts you told me about. How’d I do?” 

You laugh too then, a weary huff of breath as you sit up. 

“Don’t go fishing for compliments,” you tease, though there’s not much heat behind it with how out of breath you still are. 

He goes to respond, but you get a hand in his hair again and coax him up. You meet him halfway, swallowing his surprised noise when you finally get those pillowy lips against yours and lick at them, his tongue, his teeth, until you aren’t sure what taste is you and what is him. Until you realize you’re flat on your back again as he hovers over you, still between your thighs. 

You both hum when the kiss breaks, and you rest your forehead against his, nuzzle his nose and sigh at the floaty feeling in your limbs. 

“Better,” you whisper. 

You feel his grin bump into your own. You nip at it, playful and languid as you finally begin to get some of your bearings back. 

And then you’re shocked back into the realization that there’s all this smooth skin right in front of you, this hunk of a man hovering above, the one who just melted your brain into a fuzzy little mold of itself. You grab his hips as he licks into your mouth and scrape your nails up his flanks, unhurried, while the touch makes him shiver. 

You feel out the strength in his pecs, those broad shoulders you often daydream about, and then you push. Catching him off guard, he gasps as he loses his balance and tumbles to the side, and then laughs when you press him into the mattress and straddle his hips. 

You laugh along with him, but it slowly tapers off as his hands find your naked skin— your stomach and hips and back and then your ass, where it hovers just above that bulge in his sweatpants. 

He’s looking up at you with what you can only describe as horny apprehension. 

His eyelids droop over his dilated pupils, but his brow is all pinched up in the middle. His mouth hangs open, like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out. 

So you kiss him, soft and gentle, as gentle as he’s been with you all night. His sigh washes heat across your cheeks, and you feel him relax under you just a little. 

But then you shift in his grasp, lower your ass, and press your soaking center to his crotch. You whimper at the feeling of his sweatpants dragging across your sensitive, wet cunt. He moans and bites at your bottom lip maybe a little too hard. 

But it’s okay. He pulls away and pants your name and you settle there, your weight pressed down on his cock. Your lips find that smooth patch in his stubble, biting that chiseled jaw, licking down the curve of his neck, his shoulder, up to his ear. You delight in every goosebump you draw, and breathe in his scent before you speak up. 

“Will you let me suck it?” 

All his breath rushes out in a big gust. His fingertips dig into your naked sides, and he nods. 

“Please.” 

It’s a barely-there whisper. You pull away from that silky soft skin where his pulse is hammering to check his reaction. 

He’s begging with his eyes. It makes you smirk, sitting up straighter, trailing your fingers down the front of his body until you reach the drawstring of his sweatpants. 

You’re still sitting on his groin, though. You give a little playful wiggle, and his hips rock up to grind harder. But you don’t want to tease any more. Every moment spent teasing him, you’re also denying yourself, and you’ve been patient for long enough. 

So you shift down the bed, nestled between his legs, and get to work on the tie of his pants. Every time your fingertips brush the hair below his belly button, he sucks in a breath. You finally get the thing untied, and look up one last time for permission before you start to drag the material down, grabbing his boxers as you go. 

Your eyes stay trained on his face instead of staring at his crotch, especially as he wiggles a bit and lifts his legs to remove his pants. You don’t want to stare, and you also don’t want to not look, you don’t want him to be uncomfortable at all with you. 

You want it to be perfect. You want to make him feel the way he makes you feel. 

He nods his head, and you cease averting your eyes to trail down his body, the bushy happy trail and the neatly trimmed hair above his cock and his cock. 

His little cock. 

It is, indeed, on the smaller side. Probably one of the smallest you’ve seen in real life. Three and half or four inches long, if you had to guess. 

And it’s so pretty, cut and on the thicker side, the slightest upward curve that makes your pussy tighten around nothing. 

You dive right in, press your nose to all the hair while you kiss at the base of him, humming when his cock twitches against the side of your face. He smells so good and clean, like always, but down here there’s even more of that Marcus smell that always lingers beneath his soap and cologne, salty and warm.

When you drag your eyes up to him, his head’s thrown back against the pillows, not looking at you. You want him to look, you want him to see how much you’re going to enjoy this. 

You’ll make him look, one way or another. 

For now, you just lathe your tongue up the underside of him, then back down to tickle his balls, all the while enjoying how his prick jerks under the attention. 

He’s making little noises, mostly puffs of breath and gasps, and his hands twist up in the sheets beside you. You grab one of them, slow and steady, and lead it to the back of your head. 

And then, you finally get your lips wrapped around the head of his dick, and you slowly sink down until he’s entirely in your mouth. 

It’s not until your nose presses against the flatness above his cock do you hear him release a strangled groan. That’s when you look back up at him and find him staring down, mouth agape, locked on your mouthful of him. 

You pull back up, wiggling your tongue as you go, memorizing the ridges and hairs and veins. Your eyes are locked on his, and his are locked on your lips, so you try to give him a show. 

You open your mouth and stick out your tongue, nod your head up and down to let his cockhead tickle your tastebuds. A gruff noise leaves him, hearty and hoarse, and you want to smile but you’re not in a position to. 

Instead, you flick your tongue against that little band of tissue just under his slit, and his hips stutter as his grip on the back of your head tightens. 

“Fuck, sweetheart.”

Now you do smile, your lips upturned against the head of his cock, and it jerks against your mouth while you kiss it, until you envelop it once more. 

You hum around him, at the weighted feeling of him occupying your mouth, how smooth it feels against your tongue and how nice it is to take him all the way in and not gag or choke or drool. 

It makes your cunt ache, makes you crave him even more, makes you want to be full of him everywhere. 

You reach a hand down to touch yourself. You’re still dripping, can feel it all slipping from your entrance and cooling your skin in the air conditioning. You’ve had just enough time to recover from the mess Marcus made of you. You’re sensitive but not too sensitive, when you trace your clit with your fingertips and moan around the mouthful of cock. 

“Oh fuck, are you touching yourself?”

Your eyes flicker open and look up to him. He’s clenching his jaw, grinding his teeth as his nostrils flare. You hum and nod your head to answer, his cock slipping back and forth through the ring of your lips. He whimpers, and his head tips back against the mattress again, and it makes you speed up the efforts on both him and yourself. 

He curses, soft little chants, kneading the back of your neck in his big hand as you suck him in over and over. You close your eyes and lose yourself in it for a bit, the way he slips so easily in and out, the way his hips move just a little, like he’s trying not to but he can’t help it. The sounds, his grunts and your sloppy mouth and your fingers working over your slick folds. 

He says your name. 

You hum, use your free hand to play with the fuzzy skin of his balls. 

He says your name again, and this time it’s urgent, almost panicked. 

“Sweetheart, stop, please.”

You do, immediately. You open your mouth wide and let him fall from your lips and unhand him while you look at his exerted face. 

“Are you okay?”

He huffs, and his cock bobs beside your face. 

“I’m so okay. I just— did you want me to…? It’s okay if you don’t, I just didn’t want it to be over—”

“Marcus.” 

His heated babbling stops as he clamps his mouth shut. His broad shoulders lift and drop with his heading breath.

“Do you want to fuck me?” 

You smooth your hands across the scattered hair on his thighs when you ask. His prick twitches again at your question. 

“I— Yeah. Yes. I do.”

He looks almost guilty about it, with his wide eyes and the bashful expression spreading across his face. 

“I want you to fuck me so bad,” you tell him, “I’ve wanted it for way too long.”

His breath leaves him in a shuddery exhale, something like relief or awe. 

“Yeah? You still want it?” 

His hand skates from the back of your neck to your jaw, his thumb brushing the apple of your cheek. 

“Please, Marcus. Give it to me.” 

You turn your head to kiss his thumb, a sloppy little peck before you take it into your mouth. You smile around it when he groans, and bite it before it slips away. 

“Can you get on the edge of the bed for me?” 

You can, but not without throwing a cheeky ‘yes sir’ his way. You’re not sure if the noise he makes is from arousal or a lack of  amusement, but there will be plenty of time to explore that later. 

For now, you do as he says. You scoot so your ass is just about to fall off the side of his bed. The wooden bed frame is the perfect height to rest your heels on, and as Marcus slips a pillow under your head, you’re as comfortable as ever.

The mattress dips when he gets up to stand in front of you. The lamplight from the nightstand is really doing things for him. The slight sheen of sweat on his chest glistens, as does the wetness at his temples where his hair is starting to curl up. All those lean muscles have never been more apparent than they are now, the golden glow creating beautiful shadows across his naked body. 

He’s so hot. 

It doesn’t help that his big, warm hands snake up your bare thighs as he gets between them. His small dick stands at attention, pointing toward the ceiling, and you feel your pussy spasm with anticipation. 

“Please,” you whisper. 

He nods, steps closer as you spread your legs wider and wiggle even further off the bed. 

“Perfect, sweetheart.”

He leans over you with one hand on the bed to brace himself. The other is wrapped firmly around the base of his cock, and he looks down to watch it as he glides it through your slit. 

“Are you ready?”

You nod and hum your affirmative. He takes the go-ahead and his cockhead slides across your clit, down, so slowly, until it catches on the rim of your hole and you both gasp at the feeling. 

You look down to watch too, lifting up on your elbows to see the moment your pussy lets him sink inside, fluttering around him, engulfing his prick one inch at a time. 

You knew it. You fucking knew his cock was perfect but still you’re shocked at the way the curve makes him drag across your upper wall. And when his hips are flush with yours, all that pressure is concentrated at that bundle of nerve endings inside of you, and you’re going to lose your mind if he doesn’t move.

“Oh fuck.”

You let yourself flop back in the bed, but reach for his hand that’s supporting his weight. Your nails scrabble for purchase against the skin of his wrist as you curse again, your walls contracting around him as you tense. 

“Fuck, Marcus, please.”

You’re so far past caring about how desperate you sound. You need him, the textbook definition of it; it’s an absolute necessity that he fucks you. 

He curses, and you realize you’ve closed your eyes. When you open them, his jaw is hanging and he’s looking at you, your face, like it’s something he’s never seen before. Like he’s shocked you’re here in front of him. 

But his hips are still, and you’re helpless to the way your own cant up to urge him, and finally he’s pulling back out. The slow drag against the most tender spot inside you rips a noise from your throat, involuntary. He pulls almost all the way out, until the head of his dick is kissing your opening and you can feel how he stretches the tight ring of muscles. 

And then in again, almost as slowly, and you’re already out of breath. The feeling steals all the wind from your lungs. It’s setting you on fire, perfect friction against just the right spot, the one that’s still tender and alight from your previous orgasm. 

“It’s so fucking good,” you manage to choke out. 

Marcus moans above you, and his hips snap into you, and his free hand finds your waist so he can dig his nails into your flesh. 

“It is, fuck, sweetheart, you’re so fucking good.”

A bead of sweat drips from his nose and lands on your belly, and that seems to make you snap out of it. 

“Fuck me. Fuck me hard, please, make me come.”

You watch his mouth quirk up into a pretty smirk, dimples on full display. 

“Yes ma’am.”

Your giggles only last for a moment, dissolving into a high whine when he slides out of you and back in, a harsh thrust of his hips that doesn’t let up. 

He fucks you. You try to watch; it’s too hot not to. His biceps flex respectively, one with his effort to hold himself above you, and the other where he holds you in place by your waist. 

His neck, the one vein there that’s protruding as he bares his teeth. The way his chest is rapidly rising and falling as he drives into you. His big brown eyes, even darker now as he succumbs to the feeling of you. 

But you just can’t keep your eyes open for long. It feels too good, you’re too close to the edge. Your insides are so tender and alight from the first time you came. Every single thrust inside you is taking you apart and building your second so quickly. Your eyelids droop closed and there’s already stars blooming behind them. 

His little noises are louder, like this. Grunts and gasps and moans, falling over you, all for you. 

“Fuck, I’m so close,” you warn him.

Your back arches to encourage his pace. His skin slaps into yours faster as he groans.

“Thank god, me too. What do you need, sweetheart?” 

Without a verbal answer to his strained question, you slip your hand down to press against your throbbing clit. 

“Shit, yeah, play with your pussy for me. I wanna— fuck— let me see you come. Looks so gorgeous.”

His voice is thick in his throat, and you work your fingers over yourself faster. You’re clenching wildly around him, you can’t help it. Every thrust in sets your nerves on fire, almost too much, but not quite. His grunts are turning into growls, uninhibited and primal. You feel the mattress shift and open your eyes to find him standing up straight. 

Both hands grab your hips now, and that little angle change makes him grind even harder into your g-spot, and you’re tumbling over the edge. It’s been building under the surface for so long that when it hits, it’s blinding. There’s static in your toes that washes over you, up, up, dragging a fiery heat with it that consumes your center and makes your head fuzzy. 

There’s screaming. 

You’re screaming. Your eyes are clenched so tight, as are your fingers, all your joints, your pussy, around Marcus as he fucks you through it with sloppy thrusts. 

“That’s it, oh my god, sweetheart, you— fuck. I’m gonna come, I’m— where?”

“In me.”

Your throat is scratchy when you answer, and you don’t have any time to elaborate on why that’s not a bad idea. You’re still coming, wave after wave of warmth rolling across your body, and you’re vaguely aware of how wet everything is, the sound of him fucking you even more obscene. 

His shout doesn’t quite rival yours, but you feel it when he empties inside of you. His cock jerks and and twitches, wringing out every little bit of pleasure from you, and you think you’re still coming, the pinpricks of pleasure are still too intense to be aftershocks. 

He stays pressed as deep as he can be as his stomach convulses and his thighs shake, just like yours do where they’ve somehow wrapped around him. Your eyes open again, and the lamplight is so bright now, his breathing is so loud. He grunts and pulls out a bit, then presses back in, and again, until it falters and his whole body slumps. 

His top half collapses onto you, his little breaths huff and tickle the tingling skin of your belly. Your own breath comes out in a weak moan, and it takes all the strength you can muster just to run your fingers through his sweaty hair. 

“Jesus,” he says.

Your name cascading off his lips in such a strung out voice that it makes you clench around him again. 

“Huh?” 

God, how are you ever going to move again? 

“You uh… Is that a common occurrence?”

Christ, why is he using such big words? 

“What are you talking about?” 

He clears his throat. 

“You like— You squirted?”

You laugh, one delirious huff. It makes his head rock on your jiggling belly. 

“I what?”

You gather the will to look down at him. His mouth is open, surprised and amused, and his eyes are shiny and bright. 

“Yeah, like, a lot.”

He’s still inside you but softening, and his own chuckles make him slip out. 

You lift up on your elbows as he stands up straight and the evidence is clear. The hair above his dick and high on his thighs is all dark and soaked. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

The sheets on the edge of the bed are absolutely ruined, and you pray he’s one of those men that has a mattress protector. You’re more than a little mortified, and the way he’s staring at you, silent, is beginning to make you squirmy.

“What?” 

“Why do you seem so surprised?”

His fingertips are feather-light across your thighs, and you shiver. 

“I’ve never actually… done that? I would have warned you.”

He makes a pained sound, and those fingertips turn into a tight grip just above your knees. 

He doesn’t speak up. Instead, he lies on the bed beside you. He holds himself by his elbow, but that hand strokes your scalp while the other traces up and down your thigh, your hips, your breasts, anything he can reach. You avoid the topic at hand to relax into it, and you think you’re finally coming down as that boneless feeling washes over you. 

You’re vaguely aware of his cum dripping out of you, but the sheets are a lost cause anyway. You just watch his lax face, the way the wrinkles in his brow are all smoothed out, the way his eyes follow the patterns he’s drawing on your body. 

He catches you staring. His gaze meets yours and he smiles and it’s sunny. It warms you through, despite all the sweat that’s cooling on your body. 

“Hi,” he whispers. 

You giggle, and he does too. He tries to hold it in by biting his lip, but it’s no use. You will your exhausted bones to shift and face him, and he presses his lips to yours and they meld together.

It’s languid, unhurried, just reacquainting after too long apart. It feels a little goofy, with how you’re both smiling so wide, but it calms you into settling down after such a high. 

Both of your breathing seems even, when you part. 

“That was—”

“It’s never—”

You both chuckle. 

“Ladies first.”

You feel shy now. You can’t imagine why, but a fluttery feeling overtakes your stomach. 

“I was just gonna say… That was better than all those times I imagined it.”

You didn’t think it was possible, but his smile grows even wider. His eyes flicker from yours to the sheets between you, and you think maybe he feels as bashful as you do. 

“It’s never been that good.”

A sigh escapes him when he speaks, and his nervous gaze lands on you when his face falls into something more earnest. 

It takes your breath away. Because it’s never been that good for you either, and isn’t that such a perfect coincidence?

You tug him to you by the back of his neck, eat up the surprised little sound he makes against your mouth. 

“When can we go again?”

[unbearableblog]

My Christmas gift for you.

Messages (Carmen Berzatto x reader)

Summary Carmy’s actions towards the reader might eventually lead to consequences.

Word count ~2,8k

Warnings 18+, No use of Y/N (there is rarely a name but it’s just for aesthetics, you are welcome to insert your own name), action set in S2 so possible spoilers, cursing, angst, relationship problems, possible mentions of smut

A/N God this took a lot from me! Legit flew to Copenhagen haha. I am very grateful to each and every one of you who read, liked, commented or reposted and supported this! I would never think that this would happen. I hope you’re not going to crucify me over the plot. Thank you so much for waiting!

Merry Christmas everyone!

Chapter 1 (the one with departure, Denmark, and desserts)

Things were a little different at the Beef lately.

“Richie, shut the fuck up!”

“You first, child!”

Well, maybe not so different. But they certainly were different with you. Amongst the neverending screaming, cursing, and fighting, you somehow survived getting shot at, losing the power, dealing with the IRS, and everything else that constantly went wrong with this cursed place. The amount of experience you had in this short amount of time has topped anything you've done before. You couldn't catch your breath. But that's what you do for the ones you love, right?

It's been some time since you started helping Carmen with the Beef - serving the customers on a particularly busy day, calming down Carmen, sometimes giving Richie a pep talk when he needed to keep his shit together. But mostly you just chatted with Sydney and sat in the kitchen, doing your college assignments while watching Carmen work. You could never get tired of it - he looked so professional and smart. It was his element. Well, when everything was going well.

The entire time, you were there, talking to Carmen as he prepped for the day, giving him a smile and getting one back, just watching him go on about his day and move so swiftly like a well-oiled machine. Seeing him in an apron drove you wild. You'd have to stop yourself from going up to him and touching his god-given curls or rubbing his back through his white T-shirt (but more often you failed to do so). Most of the days you patiently waited to go home and show him everything that was on your mind all day.

One time he caught you staring, mind far away from the Beef. His voice brought you back.

“Are you thinking about my fingers again?” He said while putting his arms at his hips, almost offended.

You bit your lip and looked at him with a guilty smile.

His hand went up to brush through his curls.

“You’re not gonna get any work done if you keep thinking about that. And with the way you look at me, can say the same thing about myself.”

You whine and playfully pout, not wanting to keep studying.

“Come on, princess,” he comes closer to you and whispers in your ear so that his whole voice goes through your body and his lips brush your ear “And when we get home you can tell me all about it while you sit on my ‘pretty’ cock”

Sometimes he would explain what he was doing or why things weren't going the way they were supposed to, sometimes you would share something you found fascinating in your assignment. He would always listen, even if he didn't fully understand, but you knew he was trying to. It made you feel so special - you got the whole attention of this hot 3 Michelin star chef, covered in tattoos and buff, but he looked at you with such care and softness. His muscular arms touched and wrapped around you with strong tenderness and appreciation. Sometimes you saw the same attention to the details in the food he was making - he really cared.

Everything changed after the Beef closed down.

Carmen was a little taken aback when you told him you were going to Copenhagen with Marcus. You were at the restaurant, like any other day, figuring out a thousand things that were wrong before the opening, when you heard Denmark being mentioned amongst the guys.

“Someone's going to Denmark?” you asked, turning around on your chair.

“Marcus is,” Carmen brushed off, and continued having his conversation with him.

“Wait, to Copenhagen? Why?” you felt ignored.

“Uhh, to learn everything about desserts,” Marcus answered. Carmen didn't even look in your direction.

“When? Why didn't you tell me?” you sounded excited because you were, but your heart felt like it was placed into an iron cage. Carmen knew how much that city meant to you, and to not even mention that your friend was going there felt neglectful. But maybe you were overreacting - he was probably busy, he doesn't have to tell you everything, and it surely wasn't for long anyway.

Berzatto shrugged his shoulders. “Why? It's just for some time.”

“I was actually thinking about going there too. I haven't seen my sister in a while. Maybe we could fly together? I know everything there,” you were ready to help Marcus as a bonus. You really appreciated him as a friend, and returning the favor for all those delicious pastries he made at your request would be terrific. You could also use a fucking break from Chiberia.

“For real? That would be awesome!” Marcus exclaimed with his arms, his smile releasing your heart from its prison.

“Uhh… yeah-yeah, sure, I guess,” Carmen squinted his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “I- uhhh, have to go out for a minute. Umm,” he swallowed “-meet that rep for me, yeah?”

An entire work shift of flying has gone by the time you started seeing the bronze-roofed houses sprinkled like decorations on a Red Velvet cake. You made Marcus promise you not to judge the country by its airport, as it usually was surprisingly dirty. Nevertheless, there were hints of what life there was like - a burst of energy, culture, and flavour. You walked what seemed like forever through the endless white halls with blue sections, wondering how many times Carmen had been here and whether you ever crossed paths. You kind of wished he was there. Your excitement rubbed off on your friend - Marcus was beaming with happiness, anticipating your time there. He knew it was going to be life-changing.

The moment you went outside felt like you could breathe again. The weight of The Beef, Carmen, stress, problems problems problems dropped off, was left behind, and never got on the plane. Your chest wasn't encircled by snakes that only pushed until you suffocated. Your mind was clear.

You helped Marcus settle in his awesome boat, and after reading the owner's note to "keep the water in Coco's bowl", searched for the cat for like 20 minutes. Unfortunately, your efforts were fruitless.

Marcus only let you go back alone because you assured him of your safety (you gave him a speech about how it wasn't like Chicago) and experience. Still, he made you text him when you got to your sister's. The two of you were always trying to make your relationship work, but the distance didn't make it easy. That did not mean that you were going to give up - you were used to making a lot of effort for the people you love. She was ecstatic and grateful to see her little sister. The rest of the evening was spent eating, sharing your lives, and talking about your mysterious boyfriend.

“I don’t know, he’s just so… distant. He always leaves somewhere, does god knows what when he knows we don’t have much time! Sometimes it feels like I care about the restaurant more than him. Which is so weird because he was so into it before! He planned the whole thing! And I am so fucking stressed from it all! I never even wanted to work in a restaurant but I was there for him!” you expressed your pain very loudly.

“Have you thought of… breaking up with him?”

You exhale and almost completely give up mentally.

“I don’t know… it feels like we don’t have much of a relationship at all anymore. We don’t go out, all the time is spent on the opening. I swear sometimes I’m there just for our friends and his sister, I can’t just leave them without help while he’s wandering somewhere”.

You couldn’t sleep because being in bed without Carmy by your side felt plain wrong. You were also jetlagged which meant that the peaceful world of Morpheus was avoiding you like a plague. The same thing happened to Marcus, so you both were just texting about what you were doing.

“idk, i gave up and went to get some tea” you typed, a warm mug in your hand as you cozied up on the couch with a blanket.

“yeah, same shit here. bout time to get ready anyway”

Your whole house was asleep, and probably would be so for a while. It was too dark to go out for your liking. Boredom kind of crept in.

“what is it exactly u're gonna do there?”

“uhhh i wish i knew. make some things from the pics i showed u i guess”

“can i watch?” Was it too much of a request? Who even knows if you'll be allowed there?

“yeah i think so. i'd love to not have to do this alone”

You smile, finish your tea, and get up to find some clothes.

You finally reached the place and were met by a tall man in an apron. He introduced himself as Luca, and you heard a very sultry voice softened by an accent. You wondered where he was from.

“I'm Chef Marcus. That's Liv. Is it cool if she just hangs around and watches me?”

“Hi,” you smile at him.

“Hello. You could also join in. What kind of a chef are you?”

“Oh I'm not, I'm -”

“Well, with the amount of time Liv spends in our kitchen listening to every word of the CDC, I'd say she might as well be a chef by now,” Marcus only half-jokes. You give him a look anyway.

Luca prepared everything and soon he and Marcus were working. You were sitting on the other side of the table, able to see everything. Only now you were starting to notice how strong he was, you have to be, you thought, if you stay on your feet all day. His arms were also covered in tattoos that didn't seem to make sense, like Carmy's.

“So who are you?” Luca's question doesn't sound rude, just curious.

“I'm his boss' girlfriend,” you nod as you speak.

“Wow,” he seems to be thinking something, but maybe it's just him being focused on putting the peanuts on dessert, “What are you doing here?”

“Uhh, visiting my sister? It was time and I thought Marcus here could use someone to show him around. As for here, I was really jetlagged and bored.”

Luca was amazing. The way he coached Marcus even when he made mistakes was consistently calm, stern, and leading. Not once did any of you feel berated or hear his voice go louder, all you knew was to just try again. His entire presence excreted stability and equilibrium.

After an extensive lesson, it was Marcus' turn to try. All of you leaned closer to the dessert in hopes of seeing more. You held your breath as you watched Marcus carefully place a tiny piece in the clockwise direction of the dessert when in the blurred background of your vision you felt something change. Instinctively, you looked up from the dish, and your eyes met the gaze of your friend's teacher. There he was, almost lying on the table, looking at you. As if he wasn't busy right now. As if the dessert didn't matter. Hypnotized. “Got it!” Marcus smiled and stood straight up. “Great job, chef,” Luca switched back to Marcus.

Suddenly a firework of spice embraced you in its scent, making your head go round from the all-encompassing desire to taste it.

“Oh my god, are those cinnamon buns?” you had to put your hands on the counter to keep yourself up. “Yeah,” Luca stood straight. “You like them?” “They smell amazing!” you could swear you saw a quick prideful smile brush Luca's lips.

“They are her favourite. And she's very specific about'em too,” Marcus threw you under the bus.

Luca seems interested. “In what way?”

“I'm not, okay? I just believe that cinnamon buns should have a lot of sugar and cinnamon, or else they're just buns. There was this place near the park, and the pastry they sold was like 90% dough. I didn't like that at all” you defend yourself, and Marcus scoffs, having heard you rant about it many times at The Beef.

“Abomination,” Luca shakes his head.

“Exactly! I love it when there is so much sugar that it's oozing out, that's how it'd supposed to be.”

Your lighthearted banter somehow led to Luca opening up and talking about his life and experience. He also shared a couple of stories about determination, his acceptance of not being the best, and some of his failures. Soon all of you were joking around and laughing at your pasts. You felt your heart warm up to him and thought that leaving the house was a good idea.

Marcus stepped outside to check on his mom. He called her sitter as often as he could, and every time you hoped that everything would be alright. Luca was silently doing his work, kneading some dough. It was a demanding process, but so meditative, and you couldn't help but float away watching his big hands grab and squeeze the smooth dough, throwing it back onto the table occasionally, his long fingers dug into it, leaving an impression. “So where is he now?” you ask. “Who?” “The chef who was better than you. Where is he now?” you wondered if Carmen knew him or told you about him. “Well, you tell me. Apparently, opening up a new restaurant,” the chef said, as he threw a careless nod in your direction. Huh? Your heart drops. What? You let out a nervous scoff. “You're saying it was… Carmen??” Your question was met with a simple nod as he kept working. “Carmen Berzatto, the chef that was better than you at everything?” you almost spell out. Luca just takes his eyes off the dough and watches your reaction. He is also confused. “God, he really is the best?” the question sounds more like an exhale. “People keep saying it, but I guess I didn't realize” you sit down, defeated, and stare off. Your mind keeps pacing - what happened to Carmen? How did he go from being the best to being a yelling mess of chaos? Why is someone who looked up to him so calm and collected but still successful? Why can't he be like that? “You sound surprised. What, he doesn't feel like it?” He asks while kneading the dough, this time slower and a little softer. You look at him, then shake your head away and look down. You want to tell him everything about the way Carmen treats you, and how different that is from what your beginning used to be, how he doesn't appreciate you even though you spent so much time in and on The Beef, and how unfair that is, and have his deep voice tell you the answer, but you can't. That would be weird. Luca notices your hesitation. “You know, when we worked together, he would often be… difficult,” there is a pause after he says it because he is reading your face, trying to understand if he's walking on thin ice. He isn't, so he continues. “Partly why I didn't become better than him was because he wouldn't let me.” “Yeah, he shared something like that.” His brows went a little higher, and his grip on the dough hardened and stayed there. “My point is, being with a person like that can't be easy. Man, we only worked together and I already wanted to smother him, can't imagine being in a bloody relationship,” his smile makes you laugh and for a second you forget every bad thing in the world.

Later that day you wanted to call Carmen. “Carm, you free?” You wished to tell him everything - how much you loved the city, how nice his friend was, the fun you were having, and how good this was for you. Kinda wanted to beat his ass for being so mean to Luca too. “not rn, Liv, busy”

Of course.

“Olivia! Come here!” your sister screamed to get your attention. You noticed she was standing at the door, talking to somebody, so you got up and approached her. “What's up?” you asked. She closed the door and turned to you, holding something in her hands. “It's a gift from your boyfriend,” she said in a teasing tone, and you could swear that the last time you saw her that giddy was in high school. “What? How do you know?” A drop of hope celebrated its birth in your chest. “The delivery guy said it's from a chef,” the last word she playfully stretched out, so it came out a little funny, like Tina says it. You couldn't believe it. There it was, a white box carefully tied with a red ribbon. Finally Carmen realised how distracted he was and decided to apologize. Obviously, you were gone, so he missed you. Your heart filled with warmth and you smiled to yourself - you knew things would get better. You take the hefty precious gift from your sister's hands, sit on the couch, and open it with anticipation. Inside, 9 breathtaking gourmet cinnamon rolls with caramelized sugar barely fitting, leaking out of the mouthwatering, well-kneaded dough. And a note.

"You deserve all the best in the world - Luca"

I hope you enjoyed it! Part 2 might come quicker if you comment how you liked it

Snippet from the next chapters

🏷️ Tagged everyone in the comments! If you want to be excluded, just let me know♥️ @carma-fanficaddict @eternallyvenus @sia2raw @helloheyhihowdyheya @soursopsista @m1dnightsnackz @custarrds

Dividers by @saradika

[frannyzooey]

The Date

Marcus Moreno x f!college student, The Secret Universe

Rating: E, age gap, heavy daddy kink y'all -- they are exploring it together ❤

A/N: all the thanks in the world goes to @the-scandalorian who reassures me every time I am worried the smut is not hitting -- your comments in the doc keep me going. thank you ❤ a special dedication to @swiftispunk who was really brave earlier this week and not only inspired me with that bravery, but also deserves a treat for it ❤

--

The door of the coffee shop swings open, cold air skimming across your back. Shifting your chair to angle yourself away from it, you glance down at your phone as it rings.

Marcus

Swiping right, you answer. 

“Hi,” you grin. 

“Hey, baby.”

His low voice flowing syrupy warm and deep into your ear, you play with the edge of a notebook page, still smiling.

“What’s up?”

“I’m at work, so I don’t have long, but I was calling to see what you’re doing this weekend. I’m free, and I was hoping you might be too?”

“Marcus Moreno. Are you asking me out on a date?” you tease. 

You hear a low chuckle through the phone, and you press your finger over your earbud to drown out the espresso machine in the background. 

“Yea I am, smart alec.” His scolding is laced with paternal endearment, and you smile wider. “I was thinking I’d pick you up tomorrow night after work?”

“Sure.”

“I gotta run into this meeting,” he says, and you can almost see him hurrying through the hallways, checking his watch. “But pack an overnight bag, okay? And put something pretty in there for me. I’m gonna take you to dinner.”

“Something pretty, huh? Kinda demanding, aren’t you?”

A small smile curls at the edge of your mouth and you can hear him match it with his own when he huffs a laugh, picturing the way his eyes crinkle at the corners with fondness. 

“There’s this hotel I always pass on the way up north, with a dinner place underneath. I made a reservation for us.”

You shift in your seat, feeling almost shy. The premeditated planning and the thoughtfulness behind the idea makes you feel cherished, and for a reason you can’t fully explain, feminine. Delicate, meant to be taken care of. This grown man, thinking of you while he’s at the office, making plans to be with you later. Asking you to wear something pretty, just for him. 

“That sounds perfect,” you reply. “I’ll pack tonight.”

“Great,” he answers. 

His voice slips into something more hushed, as if he’s stepped to the side of a doorway before heading into a meeting room. “I’ll be thinking about you until I see you. Been thinking about you since I booked the room.”

So open with his affection, something stirs deep about the sweet sentiment of the words paired with their true meaning. With what you know he’s been thinking about. 

“Oh yea? Anything you want to share with me now, over the phone?”

He lets out a soft, good humored groan. “I wish, baby. I wish I could.”

The sound of his voice coils something deep in your belly, warming you from the inside out. It’s always so overwhelming when he calls you and you have your earbuds in – especially when he lets out those soft groans. Made even more intimate due to the fact that your relationship is still a secret, it makes the low tone of his voice that’s just for you all the more arousing. 

“Tell me on the drive up there?” you ask sweetly.

He lets out a slow breath into the receiver, and you close your eyes for a moment. 

“Oh believe me, I will. Gotta run though. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You say your goodbye and hang up, your assignment forgotten as you stare out the window with a far away, content expression. 

Taking a sip of your latte, you slide into a daydream: an image of him driving, the way his blue dress shirt pulls tight across his shoulders. Him checking into a hotel room, with the sort of casual confidence it requires. The soft brace of his hand on your back as he guides you through the carpeted hallways, the soft click of the door behind you. 

Taking another sip of your drink, the images roll on from there; the coffee shop humming with life around you. 

–

“Wow,” you say, walking into the room. Turning to him, you give him a shy smile. “Pretty fancy.”

“Yea, it’s not bad, huh.”

He tosses his key card on the dresser, placing your overnight bag down next to it. Clicking on the lamp, he bathes the room in warm, inviting light. The furnishings are understated but luxurious, the king sized bed enormous and lush. The sight of a single bed in the room sends warmth through the cradle of your hips and down, and a rolodex of images flashes quickly through your mind: crisp sheets, sweat slick skin, his broad, bare shoulders hooked under your knees. 

His words interrupt your fantasy. “I thought I could let you get ready, and I’ll go down and get us a table? Order us a drink?”

It’s never been this way with anyone else. Something that drew you in from the first time you met him, he’s always been so caring and attentive. Always anticipating the situation and making a clear plan for it, always considering your desires and putting them first. Never to the detriment of his own, but rather alongside his. Because he likes it. Because he can’t help doing it. Like it’s second nature, after spending so many years as a single dad. 

Still, every time he offers to do something before you ask, you find yourself touched. So considerate and thoughtful – while booking you a room with the clear intention of doing something depraved in it. 

“Don’t take long, okay?” he says, stepping closer. His hands curl around your hips, and you turn to fully face him. Letting your touch find his firm chest, you splay your fingers over the crisp fabric of his dress shirt, warm with his body heat. 

“I won’t,” you promise. 

Leaning in, he presses a gentle kiss to your mouth, one you chase when he pulls away. Studying your face closely for a moment, his expression softens. 

“You know, you can say it here if you want.”

Immediately understanding what he’s referring to, you swallow, vulnerability spreading across your features. 

“I want you to,” he softly encourages.

You bite your bottom lip for a moment, hesitating. You haven’t said it since that night in his guestroom, but the memory of it has brought you to release more than once. The word has echoed in your mind for weeks; his lust-soaked groan after you said it fills your mind every time you close your eyes. 

The definitive statement of his encouragement gives you courage as he meets you halfway with a vocalization of his own secret want. A seemingly large leap to take, you know he’ll catch you when you fall – he always does. 

“Okay,” you agree. 

His expression so achingly soft yet with an undercurrent of lust hidden in the depths of his dark eyes, he leans in again, skimming his nose across your cheekbone with a featherlight brush. His hands gently tug your hips closer, and his mouth finds the soft hollow beneath your ear. Pressing a kiss there, he gives you another, and another, his tongue tasting your skin. 

Your head lolls to the side, and your eyes slip shut, focusing on the plush, warm give of his mouth. 

“Say it,” he whispers, and you melt into him, a heavy ache pooling inside you. 

You focus on the wet glide of his tongue and the solid sturdiness of his body in your grip, and the word comes pouring out of your mouth, saturated and soaked with want. 

“Daddy.”

A soft groan catches in the back of his throat, the sound pressing into the delicate skin of your neck. His fingers tighten in their hold, and he gives you another lingering kiss. His teeth scrape against the slope of it this time, his mustache tickling your skin and when you let out an involuntarily whimper, his mouth gets more demanding, his grip tightening as he sucks, the bulge of his stiffening cock nudging along the top of your thigh as he flexes his hips towards you – 

And then he’s pulling himself back with his eyes closed, a small frown gathered between his brows. Trying to rein his desire in, he lets his forehead rest against yours for a moment, collecting himself with a sigh. 

“Good girl,” he praises you, the warm words ghosting humid across your lips. 

Your fingers curl into the smooth fabric along his sides, and you resist the urge to tuck your face into the crook of his neck to hide how much the endearment affects you. 

You cling to him for a moment, waiting for his body to settle and then he takes a step back, scrubbing his jaw with his hand and blowing out a heavy breath. Swiping the key off the dresser, he pats his pockets to make sure he has everything he needs. 

“I’ll be downstairs at the bar.” He takes a step towards the door, and then stops, hesitating. His eyes drop down your body and back up again, taking their time. “Seriously, don’t take long.”

Laughing, you wave him out the door, standing in place with a grin as you watch it close behind him. 

–

The white wine he ordered pairs with the delicious food just right, and though you want to eat more, you stop yourself, not wanting to get too full. So you share with him instead, eating off each other’s plates as you talk. 

It’s been a couple weeks since you’ve seen him last, and he covers every topic: school, your schedule, how you’ve been spending your free time, what books you’ve been reading. He wants to know it all, just like he seems to want to touch it all, with the way his hands never leave you. The warm weight of his hand on the top of your thigh makes you bold, the proximity of his fingers to your core a bright, beckoning pressure. 

You lean in, asking him to name at least one of the things he promised he would tell you in the car.  

Watching the waiter come over with a refill of your wine, he whispers in your ear.

“I can’t stop thinking about your pussy. How much I want it.”

The filthy words are a direct contrast to the way he seems so outwardly relaxed and polite, and the words play on a loop in your mind when he presses a gentle kiss just under your ear. 

His solid body fits against the length of yours in the booth after you’re finished eating and then again out on the small, intimate dance floor. Feeling bashful at the slightly old fashioned request, you take his hand and let him lead you out to it, winding your arms around his neck. 

One of his hands splayed across your lower back with a protective hold, the other one strokes along your side, seeking out the smooth fabric of your dress. Waves of romantic music guide your swaying steps and lightheaded with drink, with happiness and with him, you rest your face at the corner of his jaw, breathing him in. 

The picture of romance to anyone observing, you pull back just enough to look at him sweet and soft – before opening your mouth. 

“I think I’m ready to go upstairs now.”

His steady gaze just as intoxicating as his charm and attentiveness has been tonight, you hold it and tilt your chin up, lowering your voice even more. 

“Take me to bed, daddy.”

The only outward tell of the effect your words have on him are his hands tightening in their hold, but you can feel his body subtly stiffen the way it’s pressed against yours. He waits until the song is done, and then he’s leading you off the dance floor, the weight of his hand resting on your tailbone all the way to your room. 

When he steers you inside, you expect him to turn on the lights…but he doesn’t. 

His hands cupping your jaw, he kisses you instead. 

“You looked so beautiful tonight.”

The words are whispered into the darkness, the only light in the room coming through the sheer curtains. The firmer edges of him meet your softer ones: a deft, skillful handling of your dress as he takes it off, his dry palms skating over your bare skin as he unhooks your bra and tosses it onto the floor, the delicate brush of his fingertips as he slides your panties down your legs and off. 

Sitting on the edge of the bed with you standing bare between his spread thighs, there is something so…erotic, about the way he just looks. By contrast, he is still in everything he wore tonight, save for the shoes he slipped off when you walked into the room and you fight the urge to squirm under his attentive, reverential gaze. He takes his time, his hands exploring every slope of your skin he can reach. 

“When we were downstairs,” he starts, looking up at you with doleful, heavy lidded eyes, “I just kept thinking about how much I wanted to come back to the room. How much I wanted to undress you and see what was waiting, just for me.”

His touches get heavier, more weighted, slightly more needy when he palms the weight of your breast in his hand and you watch the slow swallow of his throat, a steady throb beating between your thighs. Slick pools sticky and wet along your seam, smearing across his fingertips when he nudges them between the soft skin of your thighs, skating his touch through the silky curls that cover your cunt.   

“This is mine, right?” His voice drops into a low husk, his eyes on where he’s touching you. 

“Yes,” you answer shakily, trying not to succumb to the weight of your want. 

“I wanted so bad to taste this instead of the food we were eating.”

He does then, bringing his fingers to his mouth with a frown and a soft groan and a suck, and you bend at the waist, cupping his jaw to bring his mouth to yours. Kissing him fiercely, you crawl onto his lap. 

“Do you want it just as bad as I do, baby?” he breathes, molding his lips against yours. His arm hooks around your back, tugging your body against his. His broad hand settles on your hip, a slight tremble to his hold. “Tell me. Tell me what you want.”

“I want you,” you confess. 

Getting lost in the cool sensation of his clothes against your heated skin, one hand grasps the collar of his shirt, and the other wraps around the nape of his neck. Grinding yourself down onto the stiff heft of his cock, it strains through his pants beneath you. His mouth demands more from yours, and the anticipation that’s been building in you since yesterday when he called breaks, the words rushing out against his lips. 

“I want you to eat my pussy, daddy. I want you to taste it.”

Only the third time tonight that you’ve let yourself say it, he growls, flipping you onto your back. Covering you with the weight of his body, he guides your still moving hips against his own with a weighted grind just for a moment, and then he’s pulling himself away to sink to his knees on the side of the bed, tugging you swiftly to the edge. 

“Marcus.”

The moan you let out is guttural and loud when he gives your cunt an open mouthed kiss, his head shaking “no” between your legs. 

“Sorry, sorry,” you pant. Your fingers slipping through his hair to press him closer, his tongue swirls heavy around your clit, his shoulders spreading you wider as you grind against his face. 

“Daddy.”

The rumble of his corresponding groan of approval is felt deep inside you, and there is an urgency that slips into his movements as his grasping hands cup your breasts with a squeeze, smooth down your torso with a weighty drag, and wrap around the back of your knees to push you open wider for him. When you come in his mouth, he buries the bottom half of his face with a groan of satisfaction, letting you ride it out against his chin. 

Leaving you breathless and sated for the moment, he stands and strips his clothing quickly. Buttons ripped open and shirt untucked, belt undone before he pushes everything down and off, he impatiently tugs his undershirt over his head before he’s crawling up on the bed to join you. Your eyes drop to his cock, bobbing with weight as he makes his way over to you and you think he’s going to spread your legs to make room for himself, but instead he stretches out alongside you, pulling you in for a kiss. 

Your taste thick on his tongue, he waits until you’re restless in your movements against him, and then rolls over on his back, guiding you on top.

He’s a lot like this, in this position. His cock thick to begin with, the stretch of it takes his mouth to get you ready to begin with, but paired with the weight of your body as it presses him deeper inside you, your breathing hitches as you work him in. Overwhelmed with fullness, you squirm on his lap and rocking your hips forward just to feel him slide inside of you, you tip your head back with a moan. 

“Daddy.”

His hands envelop your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your peaked nipples. He plays with them, forcing his hips up to meet yours. 

“Daddy, please.” You’re begging, but you don’t even know for what. 

The sensation of him beneath you and inside you, the relief of saying the name you have for him in your heart. You know he brought you here so you’d feel more comfortable saying it, and so you do. You let the word spill into the dark room, absorbed by the walls – spill, spill, spill out of your mouth just like he does down your throat, tucking himself into the deepest parts of your body. 

The quiet intimacy, the warm, dry, comforting hold of his big hands as they move you on top of him, the solid strength in his body between your flexing thighs – it all swirls into something intensely arousing, sending shivers along your skin, your breath catching in your throat.

Your moans are breathless as you start to ride him, pleading for him all the same. “Please daddy. It feels so good.”

Everything centered between your legs, he buries himself to the hilt and makes you grind down on it, filling you to the brim. 

“That’s my girl, letting go like that. Do you need more?”

You shake your head, your teeth pulling at your bottom lip as you focus on how deep he is. 

“No. No, it’s just – “ Your hips work faster; a groan spilling out of his outstretched throat. The sound makes you look down at him and he is wrecked underneath you. “You feel so good. So good.”

His thumb rubs circles against your clit, a groan crawling out of his chest when you clench hard around him. “I want you to come on it, baby, okay?”

His hair mussed against the white pillow, his glasses askew on the bedside table. His plush mouth, open in a pant as he watches you ride him. 

These are things that only you get to see, and similar, contrasting images flash through your mind: his thumb a slick drag over your clit (wrapped around the steering wheel as he drove here), his open mouth, begging just for you (smiling politely at the receptionist as she checked you in), his fingers hooked around his drink tonight at dinner (the same ones that have been buried inside you and tucked into your mouth). 

His broad back at the sink as he does the dishes; the same one filling the space between your spread thighs. The voice that makes polite conversation with his coworkers; the husky, filthy orders given to you in the privacy of your room. 

This reserved man; this depraved man. This good father who loves to debase his daughter’s best friend. 

This unassuming and handsome man with a want cradled within him so deeply that no one can tell — no one but you, who gets the brunt of his tightly held restraint that spills loose every time you’re alone. 

No one knows him like this. Only you.

You come on top of him, and then he’s rolling you onto your back again, before sitting back on his heels and tugging you up onto his lap. You don’t even have time to brace yourself before he’s smearing the wet tip of his cock along the curve of your ass, guiding himself to sink back inside your soaked cunt with a groan. The snap of his hips is harsh and hard, your fingers digging into his shoulders for purchase and when you let out a soft sob, his arms wind tightly around you.

 Secure and safe, he cradles against his broad chest. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful, and all mine. All mine,” he chants, pressing kisses along the slope of your shoulder. 

His hand slides down to rest against your lower back, and when he pushes the weight of his hold along it to grind you harder against him, your back tries to bow with pleasure, but he holds you so tightly you can’t. A couple rocks of his hips upwards that have you trembling against him, and then he’s pushing his hand between your bodies, seeking out your clit. 

“Daddy,” you plead, your hand wrapping around his thick wrist as his fingers work, work, work. 

“You’re doing so good for me,” he praises breathlessly. “Such a good girl. I’m almost there, I just want you to come again. Can my sweet girl come for me again?”

You could – you’re already halfway there with the way he won’t stop playing with your clit while he fucks into you from below, and when you start to come, he holds you even tighter. The air squeezed from your lungs by his strong arm wound around your back and his nails scratch the skin between your shoulder blades as his own groan sounds deep and low over yours. 

Pliant and loose on his lap as you come down, you are so wet it’s audible when he fucks half a dozen harsh strokes into you and when he comes, he forces you down onto his lap as tight as he can, his strong grip holding you in place as he floods you with his spend. The heavy rise and fall of his chest matches your own, and you feel the rumble of his deep, sated groans of relief against your sensitive breasts. 

Tacky with sweat and the inside of your thighs sore, you shift to move, and his hold tightens. 

“Stay,” he pants, hooking his chin over your shoulder to clutch you to him, bowing his head. “Stay.”

–

He’s so boyish when he’s on the verge of sleep. 

His features lax, the wrinkles that surround his eyes softened. You play with the curls at the nape of his neck, the action soothing to both of you. 

You think of how neat his hair is normally styled, and how much you like seeing this version more. Always so buttoned up for everyone else – so reserved, so polite and kind – and yet so undone, just for you. Flushed cheeks, loose curls, bright eyes flashing in the darkness. 

Only you know what he looks like when he comes. 

Only you know that he likes being your daddy. 

A tide of gratefulness swells in your chest, and you whisper to him in the darkness. 

“I love you.”

He stirs, lifting his arm to cover you with the weight of it. “Come here.” 

You tuck yourself in along his body and when you’re shielded by the width of him, he presses a kiss to your temple, and then the apple of your cheek, pressing you closer. 

“My sweet girl.” His words slur, his tone softening as he slips away. “I love you too.”

[archoniluthradanar]

The Volturi masters as babysitters

What kind of babysitters would they make, while watching the child of a guard and his human mate?

Caius -- Perhaps the cruelest of the three masters, he will look at the child as potential food, despite the fact its adopted father is a vampire and one of their own guards. But while gently testing the chubby arms and legs of the infant with his cool fingertips, the ensuing laughter coming from it touches Caius' heart and he freezes. The sounds coming from the baby are like rare music to the vampire, and Caius will tickle it to make it laugh more. He soon begins to coo, before realizing Aro and Marcus are staring at him, then he will cough to clear his throat. "I believe the child needs a change." He sees Aro and Marcus each raise a brow, and says, "I mean its diaper."

The vampire warrior decides he will be the one to teach the baby how to fight, the sooner the better.

Marcus -- The most melancholy of the masters lost any chance of having a family when he became a vampire. Then he lost his heart's love when his mate Didyme was killed, so unlike the guard, was not able to even adopt a child and raise it as his own. "I will take it, brother. You wouldn't know the first thing," Marcus said flatly.

Setting the baby on a towel on his bed, Marcus removes the soiled diaper and replaces it with a clean one, as if he'd been doing it all his long life. He changed the infant's shirt with one that had a cartoon wolf baby on the chest. "We won't show this to Uncle Caius, will we?" Of course, Marcus would dare Caius to say anything. HE thought the shirt was cute. He holds the baby and bounces it on his knee, while singing an old Greek lullaby.

Aro -- Being a smart, overly educated man with centuries of experience under his belt, Aro will be thinking about the baby's future at the best higher-level school possible, the University of Bologna. Despite it not being his child, Aro never considers that its parents won't agree. Better it be educated before its change. He begins to relate historical trivia, seeing the child's smile as it gazes up at him as proof it agrees with Aro. "You know I'm right, don't you. Of course you do. See, smart already."

***********

Since the masters have done well with their first babysitting assignment, the guard and his mate agree to let them babysit anytime they want.

Caius gives it a small wooden sword, and regales it with stories about the glory of past battles.

Marcus shows the infant volumes of old paintings, while humming both Greek and Italian lullabys.

Aro, in all seriousness, shows the child the latest curriculum brochure from the U of B, explaining the class suggestions may change before it comes of age.

The guard and his mate stand behind a marble pillar, watching and smiling at their baby with its godfathers.

"Did you know?" the mother asks her vampire mate.

"Not a clue," the guard replies.

[absurdthirst]

Kinktober 2023: October 24th

Day 24: Bratty Sub, Anal/Oral Training, Caging

Marcus Pike x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 812

Warnings: Caging, collaring, dom/sub dynamic, nude reader/clothed Marcus, oral (male receiving), praise

|| Kinktober List || MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

There’s always a slight rattle to the door, giving you time to look over. To reposition yourself the way that you know he prefers you to be sitting. The way a good girl greets him. 

The bars of the cage are wide enough for you to stick your hand through. Comfortable enough that you can lay down when you curl up or sit up without feeling cramped. It was a very nice enclosure. You could definitely have worse. 

Your collar tinkles slightly, the bell at the hollow of your throat is one that you had been embarrassed about when he had clipped it around your throat. Making him aware every time you move. It’s impossible to keep from moving when he’s thrusting into your body, filling you with his cock so hard you rock forward. 

Coming to your hands and knees, you tilt your head down, keeping your eyes on the space right in front of the cage that he will be standing in just a few moments. The door swings open quietly, just a whisper of sound and then a pleased hum makes your cunt clench. He likes when you obey him without any reminding of what you need to do. Obviously today you had been positioned perfectly. 

“Good girl.” Your entire body lights up, listening to the praise and the soft sound of his steps as he comes closer. He always moves so quietly, it’s not a heavy tread to make you wary but a soft step that has you yearning for his presence. His feet come into view, still wearing socks but he’s obviously removed his shoes. Still dressed in his smart suit pants and you wonder if he has to leave. 

He is probably looking down, most likely is. Admiring the way your naked body is presented to him. You don’t move, trying to keep the bell quiet and be the door girl that he had praised when he walked in. 

Your cage is your safe space. All the anxiety from the outside word is left outside the door of the metal crate. The lock protects you from what is beyond. Your worries are limited to just what pleases him and nothing else. 

“Eyes up.” You eagerly start to lift your eyes from where they were focused on his socked feet. Sliding up his thighs and over his groin, his cock already hard underneath the layers that separate him from you. Your pussy throbs and he must know that because he hums again. 

Continuing up his chest, covered in a snow white dress shirt and a tie that’s already been pulled loose from the knot at his throat, the tails hang loose, making him look even more handsome and slightly disheveled. The slight stubble that he complained about growing out because it itched, but he also preferred it over the smooth cheeked look that he had sported for a long time. You think that either look is sexy on him and say so when he asks you. 

Over the aquiline nose that he hates and you adore, up to his warm, melted caramel eyes. Eyes that can appear darker when he’s upset or angry, but now they are soft, focused on you and betraying the lust that is swimming in them. 

“Hello, pet.” He chuckles as he reaches down and flicks open the belt around his waist. “You have been so good for me today, haven’t you?” 

You nod, eager to show him that you will continue to be good. “Yes sir.” You whisper quietly. 

“It’s so good to see that you didn’t try to escape.” He smirks slightly at the lock that is on the door, preventing you from getting out even if you wanted to. “I always love when my good girl stays put. Enjoys the nice little spot that I’ve made for you. Isn’t it nice?” 

“Yes sir.” You nod quickly again, agreeing with him. 

Marcus pulls his cock out and pumps it a few times in his hands as he shuffles closer and slides it through the opening in the bars of the cage he has you in. “Continue being a good girl and suck daddy’s cock and I’ll let you out to fuck you this time.” He promises, deciding that he won’t fuck you through the cage like he had the last few times. You deserve a treat for not trying to get out. You deserve to come out for a few hours. 

His cock twitches and he looks down expectantly. “Open that pretty mouth, sweetheart, daddy wants to cum.” 

You moan and open your mouth obediently, eager to do exactly what he wishes so Marcus will let you out. He will keep his word. He always does. Despite the fact that Marcus Pike keeps you in a cage, he treats you like his perfect little pet and you love it. “Good girl.” 

[lenoraah]

𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘯 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵.𝘵𝘸𝘰

pairing - marcus armstrong x wisconsin!reader

summary - reader was a pageant winner from two to eighteen before going to college to public speaking and becoming one of motorsport’s biggest content creators, interviewers and change makers. she and marcus have been dating for six months and she’s finally decided to bring him home to wisconsin for her eldest sister’s wedding

a/n - reader has several siblings, Abagail (27), Elijah (25), reader (22), Parker (17) and Shiloh (17). I wanted this to be written like short 300 word parts (like headcannons) but apparently I can’t write an imagine with short parts so probably this will be written into separate imagines. So this will be part.2 and. Also, not proof read. Also, I stressed so much over this so it’s probably shit. Sorry :)

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

family dinner-

“So Marcus, how’s life with my baby sister?” The bride-to-be asks while making a pouty face at Y/n.

“Abby stop it,” The y/h/c whines and flings a spoonful of mash potatoes at her older sister’s plate.

“A living hell right?” Elijah grins and wiggles his eyebrows at Marcus.

The brunette can only stifle a laugh as Y/n throws a cut up piece of chicken at her brother. She scowls at him as Y/n/n scolds the two of them.

“Yeah, ‘Lijah. Stop acting like a toddler.” Y/n teases her older and smirks only to have a piece of a dinner roll thrown at her head.

The y/h/c girl slowly turns her head to the side to see her younger sister grinning with her hand mid air.

Before Y/m/n can do anything Shiloh and Y/n toss pieces of their dinner at each other and the three siblings look at each other before shrugging and joining in.

“Guys stop it,” Y/m/n scolds once again and elbows her husband who is mindlessly shoving food in his mouth. “Y/d/n, help me out here.”

“Yeah, guys listen to your mother.”

Y/m/n sighs and smacks her husband’s head as she watching a her five children throw food around.

Y/n laughs uncontrollably as Abagail, Shiloh and her team up against the boys, flinging spoonfuls of mash potatoes at each other.

Marcus and Ravi, Abagail’s fiancé, share a look before also breaking out in laughter.

The two can’t even begin to express how lucky their were to find such smart and humorous and loving woman and be in a relationship with them.

The two keep watching the fight unfold as the siblings’ parents keep eating and sighs, well only their mother.

“Parker stop it! Don’t aim for my shirt, I just got it last week.” Shiloh half whines as she throws a piece of cabbage at her twin brother’s head.

“Too bad,” Parker laughs in return as he flings a bread roll at Shiloh’s head.

Y/n laughs and throws a spoonful of tomato sauce at Elijah who just in time dodges it, the sauce splattering all over Marcus’s shirt.

And just like that the pity food fight between the siblings stop and everyone slowly turn their heads to face Marcus.

Y/n is the first to break the silence with her laughter. Y/m/n can’t even open her mouth and scold her children as they all break out into laughter, apologizing over and over again.

“I’m so sorry honey,” Y/n says in between laughter as she places a hand on Marcus’s shirt.

“It’s a first and a tradition,” Ravi grins at Marcus who returns the smile as he pats Y/n head who is currently laughing into her boyfriend’s shoulder.

“How about he gets changed?” Y/m/n asks skeptically with a raise of her eyebrow.

“That sounds like a great idea,” Marcus gets up from his seat and excuses himself before he starts walking up the stairs.

“I’ll help,” Y/n runs after him.

“Uh huh, sure.”

[unladyboss]

LUCA SYDCARMY LORE

Before Luca came to Chicago he had heard a lot about Sydney from Marcus.

How she'd transformed the Bear, how kind she was, what a good person and how smart. Marcus never gave him any indication that he was into Sydney, even when Luca tried to probe for an answer.

Now with Marcus taking care of his mom more, Luca was doing them a favor substituting for him. He got to know Sydney better.

First of all she was as cool and as beautiful as Marcus said

He showed her a picture of himself at one of his favorite causes when he saw her National Museum of African American History and Culture t-shirt.

She asked him if he wanted to accompany her for a charity kids cook off she was doing.

He accepted immediately and they had a tremendous time together.

With the kids

He hadn't felt this great

This fulfilled in the longest time

He asked her out after the event and she accepted.

CARMY saw the photos from the event online and wondered aloud why he wasn't invited.

Tina reminded him that Sydney did invite him. 'Remember that charity thing?'

'Yeh the thing she didn't give any details about Tina.'

'Well you took so long to answer she said nevermind. She doesn't like to feel like she's begging. Nobody does Jeff!'

CARMY went to his office to look at the rest of the pictures.

THIS was the one arena where he didn't feel as if he could ' smoke the competition '

[lancestrollsgf]

THROUGH YOUR SLEEVES ! MARCUS BAKER

introduction master list

summary-> recently you felt more insecure, looking at the girls around you more often. looking at yourself, realizing you were different. you didn’t look like them.

warnings-> self harm, self hate, knife mentioned.

authors note-> the reader is hispanic, it’s mostly talking about features. (i’m hispanic myself) lowercase intended, my english isn’t good sorry if there’s any mistakes. also readers room is setup just like ginny’s. [change of pov] [use of (y/n)]

you were staring at your brown hairy arms, while scrolling through your friends instagram. one of them recently have posted a picture of themself in a bikini. you stared at their arms, not in a weird way. just in a more jealously way.

you reached over from the middle of your bed into your nightstand. you opened the drawer and grabbed a small knife. you pulled your long sleeves to your elbow.

after.. you placed back the knife. you stared at the blood leaking from your wrist. you rolled your sleeve back down and decided to go to sleep. you laid down. feeling the breeze from your open window. you looked at your boyfriends window.

his light was on. you saw his figure move around the room. you started to dooze off and fell asleep with your window open.

marcus’ point of view

i saw (y/n) from the window. i smiled, i grabbed my phone from my nightstand.

->hey, you up?

->it’s late wyd? 🤗

-> helloo…😔

you didn’t answer your phone so he looked over to your window, your blinds were still open. he decided to go to your window and maybe sleep in your bed. for some reason your bed is always comfier than his.

he entered into your bedroom. he closed the window behind him, not wanting you to get sick with the breeze. he removed his shoes, he moved the covers and saw your grey long sleeve. red. his folded the grey long sleeve and saw self harm/knife marks. “shit,” he said. he looked through one of your nightstand drawers and saw some bandages. he cleaned up your bleeding.

he unfolded your sleeves. he removed his sweater and laid down next to you. he put your hair in front of your face behind your ear. “you’re so pretty, why do you do this to yourself..i love you. so much, more than you think i do.” he said to you and kisses your forehead. marcus falls asleep next to you.

you woke up to the sun blaring from your open curtains. you groaned and were about to get up until you realized marcus was with you. you slightly moved him away to go brush your teeth and look some what presentable. you looked at your arm and realized you had brown bandages on your wrists. you changed into a black long sleeve but marcus had just woken up and saw you, covering your bra with another long sleeve shirt.

maybe that’s why you always wore long sleeves even on the days it was more than 100°. marcus thought to himself.

“i saw your marks.” he said. shit. “thanks for cleaning them up.” you said and closed your closet. you sat back down on your bed and marcus sat up. “(y/n). what’s wrong?” he said and held your hands in his.

“i don’t know, I’ve just felt gross recently. i don’t look like everyone on instagram. every girl i know is at least ten times prettier than me. i have so much body hair, it’s weird. my features are different than everyone else’s.” you vented to marcus. he frowned.

“(y/n).. you’re special. you’re amazing and beautiful and kind and smart and so many more things.” he said and held your face in his hands. he kissed you and your flashed flushed with red. “you’re so pretty when you blush.” he said and it made you smile even more. he can always find a way to make you smile.

the end.

[sorry this kinda sucks]

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

It's me (I'm the problem)

Pairing: Marcus Pike x gn!Reader

Rating: T

Word Count: ~700 (a true drabble? from ME?? who am I?)

Warnings: Panic attacks, crying, use of the word 'crazy,' blink-and-you'll-miss-it self injury (digging nails into skin), insecurities, mental health struggles, let me know if I missed anything.

A/N: I know the title is a fucking TS song lyric, just slap a pumpkin spice latte in my hand and call me basic, but IT WORKS, okay, and that song has been in my head since it came out. This is self-indulgent nonsense, I just want Marcus Pike to be there in the aftermath of a panic attack. I acknowledge that panic attacks look different for everyone, this is partly fabrication and partly lived experience. Thank you to @leslie-lyman for quickly looking this over for me &lt;3

My Masterlist

He finds you in the bathroom. You’ve wedged yourself in between the toilet and the tub, some compulsion from your brain to physically hide from the distress, some disconnected part of you not seeming to understand or care that it’s coming from the inside. You know Marcus has found you in more unconventional places. His closet. The pantry. Sitting next to the bed with your face stuffed into a pillow. You duck your head, lowering your forehead to your knees in a futile attempt to hide the mess of tears on your face.

He gently prises your fingernails from your arms, frowning slightly at the indents left behind, but makes no further attempts to touch you. You know he wants desperately to gather you into his arms–he always does–but he understands that he needs to wait until you make the first move. He never has to wait long. 

Marcus sits on the bathroom floor, holding both of your hands, waiting for you to stop shaking. You know that if you looked up, he’d be gazing back, his eyes full of warmth and concern. You can’t find it in you to raise your head just yet.

Eventually, you scoot forward, out of your awkward hiding spot, to sit next to Marcus and lean your head on his shoulder. He responds immediately, pulling you properly into his lap to hold you. You know his shirt immediately gets wet when you press your face into the material, and you start to shy away in embarrassment, but his hand cups the back of your neck, his voice low and soothing in your ear..

“You know I don’t care, sweetheart.”

Marcus’s hand softly strokes up and down your back, the two of you just existing together in the moment. As the panic leaves you, the dread starts to settle in. How many times have the two of you sat like this? How many more times will he agree to sit on your bathroom floor while you cry into his shoulder? You’ve been upfront with Marcus from the start–hell, the two of you have gone to therapy together–but you always worry if enough will become enough, and he’ll get tired of you. The doubt swirls in your mind until it becomes too much to bear, and it forces its way through your lips. 

“Do you think I’m crazy?” you whisper.

 “No,” comes Marcus’s soft reply. “I don’t.”

The relief sends a fresh wave of tears down your cheeks, and Marcus’s hold tightens. “Why would you think that?” he asks.

“I’m afraid you’re going to decide it’s too much, that I’m too much, and–”

“Never,” Marcus insists, putting more emphasis into his voice but keeping the same soft volume. “Listen to me–you are never too much.”

“Are you sure?” you ask with a watery, humorless laugh. “I can barely stand myself sometimes.”

“You’re your own worst critic,” Marcus tells you. “You’re too bogged down with what goes wrong that you’re missing all the things about you that are wonderful.”

You snort–a particularly hideous sound, because you’ve been crying for so long.

“Mmhmm,” Marcus insists. “You’re smart, and funny, and you’re patient with all of my bullshit,” he says, and you can feel the smile playing at his lips, “of which there’s quite a lot.”

Your smile is genuine this time–charmed by Marcus’s playfulness.

“Why don’t we go sit on the couch,” Marcus suggests gently. “Not that I don’t love our bathroom, but this is hell on my lower back.”

You wince. “Sorry,” I murmur.

“No, no,” Marcus says emphatically, shaking his head. “Honey, I’ll sit with you anywhere. For as long as you need. But I can also recognize when you’re starting to feel better and–” he stretches, popping in several places as he does, “–offer to cuddle you somewhere soft, instead.”

Your grip tightens on Marcus, the last few tears–of gratitude, this time–escaping the corners of your eyes. You nod into his shoulder.

“Plus,” Marcus says as he stands, pulling you up with him, “all I can see from this angle is that we really need to re-grout the tile in the shower.”

[safetycar-restart]

yes yes yes poly!screaming meals

- marcus is naked more often than not. he will put clothes on if guests are coming over, if its a delivery he'll put a bathrobe on for 5 minutes. but aside from that he's naked which can be useful...

- if you like wine plenty will be consumed in the household, thanks to clem supplying it. your boys will fight to refill your glass if you ask for more

- they are all chaos at events/parties, especially if there's alcohol but james Will wander off and make friends with random people. he also gets very emotional about you when he'a drunk

-the sleeping arrangement is key, marcus likes his head on your tummy, james and clem spoon with clem snuggled up to you. sometimes james sleeps cuddled up to you but not often.

- clem submits to you the easiest, a bit of cooing abd hairplay and he's on his knees for you

OH MY GOD I LOVE THESE THOUGHTS SO MUCH!! They're all so good. I'm actually gonna discuss a little bit about each of these thoughts because they're all so so good and I must discuss them all. (I think this au might be new obsession, so if anyone has more thoughts, now is absolutely the time)

MARCUS AND CLOTHES:

I mean yeah, the moment he's comfortable then he's gonna have no clothes on. So much so that you guys can't bring friends home with our warning him otherwise they might be greeted by a naked Marcus.

Especially because Marcus tends to run to the door the moment one of you arrive? He wants to see who is there, and if he can get a kiss from them. Which means that more often than not, whoever comes home gets jumped by a naked Marcus.

But also, none of you tease him about this? There's this unwritten rule that you don't make fun of it because then he'd stop and be uncomfortable and that's unacceptable.

He's also always trying to get everyone else to join him. He's the most successful with clem. Like he'll be cuddling you and the next thing you know he's got his hands under your shirt, telling you that you should take it off, giving you his best horny puppy eyes.

WINE:

Oh god they will so fight to refill your glass!! Because clem knows the most about wine (and he's bit of a service sub), you always let clem tell you about the wine you're drinking and he very much enjoys it. If the wine is for the podcast, then he'll tell you about it beforehand, just because he wants hear you tell him he's very smart and put lots of thought into the chosen wine.

The moment clem is finished telling you about the wine, Marcus and James are right there ready to fight each other to fill your glass. You always roll your eyes at them, but this is very serious business!! You usually let James do it first, Marcus always tries to play dirty to do it first and that can't be rewarded.

There are so many evenings spent sipping wine and chatting, with Marcus and clem in various stages of undress throughout the night. In the end it just turns into sex, because of course it does.

PARTIES:

Oh god it's like trying to wrangle kittens. James is usually pretty well behaved until he gets a few drinks in him and then he's making friends with random people. Which is cute, except for when it's time to go home because you have to convince him to leave his new friends.

But he also always ends up befriending the most helpful people and somehow seems to know everyone? There's never been an event you've attended without James somehow knowing someone.

clem is a very happy, giggly drunk and he LOVES dancing. He'll often get dragged into whatever chaos James is causing, which at least means if you find one you'll find the other.

And Marcus is where the real chaos starts, because he gets horny after a few drinks. And not just mildly horny, I mean grinding against you and pressing open kisses to your neck horny. He gets drunk and then he wants to be absolutely RAILED.

So usually you know it's time to go home when Marcus is one shot away from being arrested for public indecency. Which is also a great way to get clem and James moving, because the moment they hear Marcus would like to be fucked then suddenly they're more than happy to leave their new friends.

SLEEPING ARRANGEMENTS:

I love the idea that Marcus wants to sleep on your tummy? It's so nice and so soft!! He loves it!! And he will be very upset if someone else has taken that spot when he gets to bed.

Especially because he spends so much time away from you three? He rarely ever gets a few days where he can share a bed with all his loves and so when he can, he wants to have the spot on your tummy. James or Clem can take that spot when he isnt there.

And small spoon clem!! Incredible!! Sometimes he'll even drop his hand down to touch Marcus? So he's cuddled up to your side, touching Marcus who is on your tummy and then James spooning clem from behind. It's perfect.

It's especially good because James often works late, so he'll come to bed and the three of you are already asleep, so he'll just slip into bed and hug clem from behind. Clem also often will turn in his sleep and end up snuggled against James's chest.

And oh god I love the idea that sometimes James snuggles up you as welL? I think that you always have to watch out for James, because he struggles with expressing when he needs more support. Marcus and Clem will just take the support that they need, but James will become more withdrawn and you have to pull him back and find out what he needs.

And the best way to do that is often to offer to let him snuggle up to you, just a silent support system. Whenever you ask that, clem never complains about his place being taken because he realises it's important for James. Then clem will be the big spoon! He'll hug James from behind and sometimes Marcus will even move further up to rest against your chest so that he can be closer to James.

WHO SUBMITS THE EASIEST:

Yeah clem is the easiest by far, and I think he really enjoys easy non-sexual kink? He'll love to kneel for you, get handfed, etc. Marcus and James enjoy that side of kink as well, but they want to work for it.

They won't accept an offer to kneel for you unless you give them a task to do first so that they feel like they really deserve it. Like you'll tell James he has to go hand wash the dishes and wants that's done, he can come kneel with clem and then he'll rush to do the dishes, but he won't feel like he deserves to kneel for you if he hasn't done something first.

I think that Marcus can often be the hardest to get to submit? Just because he requires a firmer hand sometimes, he can get lost in his own head and struggle to find that floaty headspace without you guiding him there. That does sometimes require pushing him against a wall, choking him and making him grind against your thigh, wrecking him until he's sobbing and begging and only then can he find that calmness he needs.

[suzie-shooter]

F2 Quali - Austria 2023 - James Blair commentary highlights

Nice view of mine and Clem's kitchen in the background there, I hadn't actually factored that in when I set everything up, but there you go.

Clem up in the top 10 [in practice], honourable mention. See if we can finally get it together, that'd be nice.

I threw my back out this morning [...] oh my back is absolutely giving me grief, holy heck. Fuck [...] fuck I really am struggling with my back here team, but I'll try not to move too much - oh fucking hell - I'll see if I can kind of sit straight that might be better for it [...] feels muscular, or maybe there's some plates there I've put in the wrong place like when a guest empties the dishwasher.

Novalak is at the top of the timing boards as we see it now. Stupendous, long may it continue.

Look good, feel good, go good. Oh, Christ. I need like some kind of heat pad or a theragun or something, or perhaps a healthier lifestyle.

I've taken the day off work by the way, in case anyone was worried the insurance industry was going to collapse.

They're being quite anal for lack of a better word, on the track limits here in Austria as they usually are. Very persnickety.

Alright Novalak's going to put a lap in and he's quicker than Stanek, so that's something. And we're quicker than Benevides. We're just going to count the people we're quicker than. Not Crawford. Jaky Moon, to the top of the sheets. Said that before, weyhey.

And it's Victor Martins up top, the sexy Frenchman.

"Who's your favourite indycar driver?" Marcus. Hate to say it, in some ways, but, you know. *sings love is blind* [...] correct, followed very closely by Scott Dixon. There's really almost literally nothing in it.

Anything you hear on Screaming Meals take it with a pinch of salt or assume it's not true.

I've heard a lot about this Barbie film, a lot of chat yesterday about some of my trousers which are apparently Barbie coloured. I really haven't paid much attention to it, it's unintentional, I do just like wearing pink and upsetting the pseudo-masculine lads in my workplace who are just terrifed of anything but a pair of chinos from Reiss and a Ralph Lauren oxford shirt.

"Any interest in the Ashes James?" Absolutely none.

Almost all of [Ollie Bearman's] points have come from race wins, so he's got to pull a couple of fingers out. I had a drink with him last weekend, caught up, and he showed up to a pub dressed like he was ready for an insurance conference, white polo and black chinos and smart trainers. So somebody's got him on a short leash. And he seemed very calm, very collected, very sort of relaxed. And then he had to shoot off to another do for his mates who had passed their A-levels, so made me feel like a complete paedophile.

I'm just listening to Theo Pourchaire here, who looped it actually, in practice, had a rare moment of, I don't know, dur-brain-ism.

Not to stir the pot but [the ART seat] was an option we weren't not considering, but thought better of it in the end.

Yes, I've had a hair cut this week. Which is now apparently news. Much to the relief of Ally. She was getting continuously more and more pissed off about the hair, which is about 90% of the reason why I kept it so long.

Yes, doing TikTok now. Not enjoying it, it's a bit silly, but Clem says it's really important to uphold a public image so I'm doing them, but I want to make it absolutely clear that it's against my will.

Novalak clinging on in P16, by virtue of probably a few track limits violations. Come on Clem. P10 in praccy, it's all you need again brother. Reverse grid pole, and a massive plug for the empire. That's what we want.

This is a real what I believe scientists refer to as a clusterfuck.

Somebody's run well wide there and it's Daruvala in the MP and he's totally fucked Fittipaldi's lap in doing so as well. Big old moment for Dizzle.

I love Gregoire Saucy. I've actually never met him but I think he's just got a fantastic name. [...] I'd love to get Gregoire Saucy on the pod, but you would need to put up with me calling him Gregoire Saucy every time I addressed him.

I'm not even going to talk about Trident. Not even gonna do it, don't fancy it.

Good on Victor, I love Victor, he's a really great young man [...] super hot, lovely guy.

I'll definitely be doing all of the races this weekend, on my lonesome [...] thanks for tuning in, and please don't be mean to me.

[racingliners]

More '2023 favourites' Polls! Next up: race engineers!

We love them for different reasons, the fact that they're mad smart, have wonderful relationships with their drivers, are known to be hilarious over team radio, or they just look really good in button up shirts.

Because poll options only go up to 12, I'm splitting them into two groups of 10, with the top 5 from each going into a final poll.

Everyone will be listed in alphabetical order by surname, with their team and driver in brackets, so if you can't find the one you want click here.

(Please reblog for sample size!)

[dhr-ao3]

CURSED NUMB AND NO FUN

CURSED, NUMB, AND NO FUN https://ift.tt/AnIV4pb by WhatMurdah "His face was numb from vodka, his shirt was unbuttoned, he was sliding onto a leather banquette in a club with bottle service, and a girl was running her hand down his chest, asking how he got his scars. "Cursed," he told her. When his house arrest was done, Pansy dragged him along behind her to meet up with the pureblood scions who’d been too smart or too callow to get too involved, who definitely wanted to party but weren’t sure yet whether they wanted to party with Draco. They went to Muggle London—the supremacist kids always wanted to slum it there—and tried to pretend it was before the war. The purebloods couldn’t decide if they wanted to suck up to him or take the piss out of him, but they knew he wasn’t fun. He and Theo both—they fought too much and too sloppy; they didn’t care how much they got hurt and they didn’t care whether they won."—Chapter 5, BLOODY, SLUTTY, AND PATHETIC One shot inspired by BLOODY, SLUTTY, AND PATHETIC Words: 7731, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 2 of Related to BLOODY, SLUTTY, AND PATHETIC Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: F/M, M/M Characters: Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Pansy Parkinson, Narcissa Black Malfoy, Marcus Flint, Adrian Pucey, Hermione Granger Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Theodore Nott, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy Additional Tags: bloody slutty and pathetic, One Shot, Draco Malfoy in Azkaban, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, marriage law, Draco Malfoy Has PTSD, Draco Malfoy Wanks a Lot (A Characterization I Stand By), If He's Not Pathetic He's Not Draco Malfoy, Therapy Made Me Worse So I Started Writing Fanfic via AO3 works tagged 'Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy' https://ift.tt/bIfMhKc June 30, 2024 at 09:19PM

[raapija]

Boyfriend teammates?!

You and Jas both asked this, but I'll answer you more in depth since it's just one 👀

Boyfriend Teammates need more fans!! With their literal three minutes of interaction we got too little content but WE BELIIEEEEVE!! 🩷💛🩷💛🩷💛🩷

They're so perfect :) A rare pair where both are almost normal and smart people??? I think Andretti just dropped all the himbo beans onto Marcus 😭 Colton is so sweet and lovely and nerdy, and Kyle reminds me of Chandler Bing for some reason so I love him 😭🩷 Their fight with Fruitcheese will always be famous 🏳️‍🌈 They also got some freak in them and I think they match each other's freak ❤️

My guys got 17 fics on ao3, we need to crank up those numbers!!! Everyone should watch Andretti's videos because Boyfriend Teammates are literally just there to take care of Marcus so he doesn't walk out the house with his shirt on backwards or wander off and get lost 🫠

[and-so-he-rambled]

Excerpt from my mess of an Au Mighty Marcus

(Context: Marcus was found in the rubble and taken to Mighty Med. The staff are welcoming and Oliver and Kaz take him under their wings. They are largely unaware of Marcus’s backstory aside from a barebones idea of an evil guy making him. Henry Tidwell (Titanio) the resident tech genius takes on a mentor roll. He knows where Marcus came from because of his circuitry, but doesn’t care. Marcus works in the tech sector of Mighty Med while trying to figure out his place.)

“I’m not meant for this world.” It was such a dramatic statement, but a true one. Marcus didn’t belong in any world, not even the one he’d been created for. He didn’t belong among the ‘normos’ or the supers, he was an outlier.

Henry sighed, looking at him from across the wrought iron table that was slightly off balance. The pizza place wasn’t high end or fancy, a hole in the wall joint that smelled like spice and pasta sauce and played Italian music softly from a record player. It wasn’t the kind of place a man like Henry fit in at with his tailored suit, but at the same time was a place so like him. Marcus was learning that people were deeper than he thought. Henry said it was his ai learning, he was pretty sure he was just finally seeing the real world.

“Have you ever read my comics?” He asked through a bite of greasy cheese pizza. Marcus had, back what he was archiving, but he hadn’t actually processed any information.

“Well, I never fit in either, too smart for my own good and a bit of an asshole. I refused my fathers company to fly planes, and I was damned good. Up until I got myself stranded in the outer atmosphere and realized nobody would be coming to get me.” Henry sighed, looked haggard at the memory. He’d never seen Henry look remorseful for anything, it didn’t seem in his character.

“How did you get out?” Marcus had a theory, he was a genius after all, but humans were surprising creatures.

“I nearly died, but somewhere in that desperation I remembered that I was good for something, and that was building. I made a suit, a modified space suit of scraps and canabalized ship, and I look a leap of faith.”

Marcus leaned in, invested.

“I survived, obviously, but that suit was a peice of junk.” He laughed, even as he unbuttoned his dress shirt to pull back and show his shoulder. There was a seam, jarring an imperfect, just below his shoulder joint. “I had a rough landing.”

“Is that..?” Marcus scanned it, seeing cybernetics under synthetic skin. Henry was like him, if only just.

“Yep! Made it myself, except for the skin, never could figure out skin. So I got home, and nobody had realized I had truly gone missing for that month. I took the company back and tried to cope.” There was a shine in his eye, one of pure mischief. “And then I realized I could make a difference. I rebuilt my suit and became Titanio. With no idea of a superhero world or the fact comics were already being printed, I became a hero. Most supers hated me, a normo wearing a suit and fighting their battles. Some still do.”

Marcus had noticed that, how even some superheroes gave Oliver and Kaz the cold shoulder for being humans in the realm of gods. He thought it was stupid. Humans may be weak and inferior, but Kaz and Oliver, and Henry it seemed, had proven themselves. They were more heroic than his pathetic siblings.

“What did you do about it?” Marcus would have made them suffer to prove his worth, but Henry set down his pizza and fixed him with a stare that felt piercing down to the microchip.

“I proved them wrong, became the best I could. I turned a failing company into a tech giant, saved every penny I had and put it into my company and my suit. I was supposed to just be some human engineer meant to die in space.” Henry winked, returning his focus to his pizza like he hadn’t already packed away several pieces.

Marcus knew what he was implying. He hadn’t been built to last, a pet project instead of a son. His birthright was to die.

“I’m not hero material.” He wasn’t, he really wasn’t. He’d been created for destruction, and he’d always destroy what he touched. This peace had to be temporary. He’d met real heroes, seen them risk everything to save people Marcus didn’t see as worthy of saving. He couldn’t become that.

“Then don’t be. Be something else, you have quite the brain, kid. Save people in your own way. Also drink your water slower, refills cost money.” Always a penny pincher, even in his heartfelt moments. Marcus couldn’t help a laugh, a noice that startled him. Laughter was such a new experience, so far from the maniacal cackling he was used to. It felt nice, warm.

“Can we go to the company after?” His eyes shined at the prospect of poking around in Henry’s lab, a place he was becoming familiar with. It was so much more advanced than his area at Mighty Med! Maybe he could bully Tidwell Tech into donating equipment, god knows they needed it after last weeks budget cuts.

Henry smiled, a genuine fondness that confused Marcus as much as it pleased him. He was wary of anyone trying to fill the void Douglas left, but the new men in his life were weird. Horace with his distant caring and occasional attaboys that reminded him of his dad, but a real excitement for his hobbies that Douglas never had. Henry, so much like his father but also very different, who never tried to be a parental force and considered him an equal, a person.

“Sure kid. I need your help tweaking his gauntlets, they’ve been off since that battle with Soul Slayer last week, I think he knocked something loose.” He’d also fractured Henry’s wrist but the human never seemed to dwell on injury.

It was such a show of weakness, or, what did Oliver call it? Good faith? An offer to work on the man’s prized possession, the thing that made him a hero.

Marcus wouldn’t disappoint him. He still wasn’t a hero, or even a good person, but he wouldn’t betray Henry’s trust unless he was given a reason to. Mighty Med was a Eden, he wouldn’t be the snake that destroyed it.

[ask-the-squidbeak-boys]

Hello everyone, I'm new to this website and I would like to introduce you to my ask blog, @ask-the-squidbeak-boys. You can ask my Splatoon characters your questions and everything. Here are a few rules:

1: All questions will be answered in gmod. I don't draw or do sfm so don't ask.

2: you can ask more than one character but the limit is four characters per post. Reason is to prevent lag from spawning ragdolls on certain maps.

3: M!As are allowed but only they will be only answered when enough questions are ask.

4: No fetish or otherwise disturbing questions. Please, they are from a children's game. Any of the two above will be blocked.

With that out of the way, here are the characters you can ask. Please note that the events of Octo Vally, Octo Canyon, Deepsea Metro and Alterna are different than the events in the actual game. Call it an AU if you want but that's how it works here.

This is Conrad. He is a 21 year old Inkling originating from Inkopolis. He is currently the Captain of the Squidbeak Splatoon. While he is serious in his work, outside the Splatoon, he is a caring and supportive inkling who is up for the challenge. He's quite the sharp dresser.

Next up is Marcus. He is a 19 year old inkling currently living with Conrad. He is recruited as Agent 4 of the Squidbeak Splatoon by Marie. At one point, he was kidnapped by Octarians and was made a soldier for them before escaping, hence why he wears their armor and everything. Very energetic, he is always ready for battle.

Next up is Cameron. He's is a 19 year old octoling living with Pearl and Marina (I'm going to say he was 14 during octo expansion for clarity). He was given the name Agent 8 by Craig Cuttlefish in the metro. He likes to keep his metro outfit on him but he wears a t-shirt over it. A bit timid and shy, he wishes to learn everything about the surface. He has a fear of 8-balls since his testing run.

And finally, we have William. He is a 15 year old octoling who is currently letting the other three live with him. He once rescued the agents when they were nearly attacked by rogue inklings until he scared them off. No one knows what he looks like without the helmet. In fact, some people thinks he's a robot since he wears a mecha suit too. Despite that, he is smart and friendly, taking part of social meetups.

There you have it, you can ask these characters here. This post will be updated as time goes on and as more characters are included. I hope you take the time to ask around and I hope you enjoy this blog.

(Posting answered questions and updates will take some time so please be patient with me.)